The Heart Of The Lonely
by NefariousCreature
Summary: They say that love can travel through time. How much does one change as the years go by? Can you love someone you may know nothing about? Sometimes life gives you these answers... but sometimes it doesn't. Let's find out.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:** Hey y'all! This storyline idea popped into my mind one evening and inspired me to get into writing. I'll admit, Reba's show 'Red Blooded' that ABC chose to pass was the main source of inspiration. I wanted to see Reba be a part of something that we're not too used to see her in. Something a little more intense, really. _

_I wanted to make it a Reba show story but for some reason, I didn't think that the storyline was a good fit for it, not unless I made it an AU. I then figured I would simply make it an original story with my own made-up characters, but obviously starring Reba._

 _Ariel here would, of course, be portrayed by Reba if it was a TV series but Brandon can be portrayed by anyone you want in your mind. That's the fun part of it ;) I know that the Brock and Reba pairing is predominant on this platform but if you could give this story a chance, I'd really appreciate it_ _especially since it is my first ever long piece of writing_ _. Brandon can even be your Brock!_

 _Please, comment and let me know what you think and maybe who you picture as Brandon. I know it's not exactly a fan-fiction for the Reba show but as you will soon be able to tell, the characters are heavily influenced by them so it should not be too unsettling for you - I hope! Anyways, enjoy!_

* * *

She laid down, facing his side of the bed. Her red curls framing her face, falling freely over her shoulders. Her eyes were shut, as she enjoyed her last few minutes of quiet and freedom. They had a routine and it was his turn to make breakfast. Even if the said routine was never respected.

He was always the one, getting up a couple of minutes before her to fix her something to eat. Every morning, without fail. She knew it was his way of making up for the times he'd be called in to work unexpectedly or for when he wasn't home like he had said he would. He was the one who worked hard but he refused to let her do the work, even on days like today, when it was supposed to be her turn. And for that reason, it didn't feel right not to enjoy the extra lazy time she could get.

The bed still held the warmth of his body which she enjoyed, it made her feel as though he was still laying next to her. She moved her hand over the wrinkled white sheets and smiled to herself, tucked underneath the covers.

"Good morning and welcome to _Wake Up With Jeff_ , it is six o'clock. Today is Sunday, March 17, 1991. Two months after President George H. W. Bush announced—"

The vibrant and cheerful jingle of the alarm clock, set on Ariel's favorite radio station echoed throughout the room. She let out a heavy sigh, knowing her time in bed was running out. The host continued to deliver the daily news while she changed position, turning on her other side.

There was a glass of water and a packet of anti-migraine pills right beside it and a slightly torn Danielle Steel book underneath, all placed on the bedside table, facing her.

Soon, the door opened and her face felt the freshness of the early morning. She half-opened her eyes, pretending to still be asleep but the smile on her lips betrayed her. In came a brown-haired man, carrying a tray full of baked goods.

"Rawr" Brandon emitted, in a long-throated growl as he made his way towards her.

"You're an early bird this morning." The redheaded woman pointed out, deciding to quit her sleeping charade and once again turned around to look at the time, turning off the alarm in the process.

"It's only five past six." She flashed him a warm smile, sitting up.

"Well, today is a special day." The man responded, setting the tray on her lap as he leaned down to her level, planting a soft kiss on her lips.

"Oh, that it is." She mumbled, letting the kiss linger.

"Before you say anything, I tried to make it look nice but I didn't have a rose so I used this breadstick instead. If you use your imagination, it kind of looks like one." He scrunched up his nose. "Maybe from afar. Or if you close your eyes." Brandon explained, pulling away from her.

Confused, Ariel looked down at the tray on her lap and immediately threw her head back, laughing, now catching on as to what he was referring to. In his mother's vase stood a single breadstick, there to replace the flower. It was those little things that reminded her of how much she adored him.

"Darlin', it's food. It's the one thing in the world better than flowers." She giggled, taking another glance at the tray. Brandon had climbed onto the bed and slid his legs underneath the covers beside her.

"You know, I'm not the one you should be spoiling today." She continued, her blue eyes locking with his.

"You need all the strength you can get. You can't have a fun-packed family day without energy." He retorted, slightly tilting his head.

He knew he had made a point.

* * *

The orange juice, coffee, scrambled eggs and toasts were soon gone and Ariel was repleted, feeling ready for the day. She grabbed the mini-sized fork and fed some of the remaining pieces of fruits to the man beside her who opened his mouth and quickly ate the bites he was given. It went on for another minute or two before they were both brought out of their little world by strong squeals, filling the entire apartment.

"Uh-oh." Brandon said, pausing.

"I guess we're not alone anymore." Ariel nodded her head, pushing the tray down to her feet.

"I wonder who she gets this strong set of pipes from." He scoffed playfully, getting out of bed.

"Why are ya lookin' at me like that? I don't know what you're talkin' about."

"Yeah, right." Shaking his head in amusement, he watched her hold her hands up in defense, giving him an innocent look, one she used too often and got away with just as much.

"I'm gonna go feed the beast." He announced, now standing by the door and gesturing towards the hall with his thumb.

Brandon walked down to the living room, the sweet melody of a lullaby gracing his ears, and stopped in his tracks when his one-year-old daughter came to view, sitting on the floor, playing with her toys in her park.

"Who is that? It's daddy, yes it is." He gushed as the blonde-haired girl looked at him with curious eyes.

She kept her eyes on him while he slowly walked in her direction, bending down to look over her. Her head followed his movements, her big blue eyes looking up at him.

"What are we gonna do, what are we gonna do? It's bottle time, Bubba Bear." Brandon bent over, holding his arms out to pick her up. She gurgled in response, as if she understood what he was telling her.

As soon as she was picked up, Juliet began to cry and her father brought her close to his chest for comfort.

"I know you're hungry. Can you be patient for daddy for one more minute?" He softly asked her and she briefly complied, now distracted by the collar of his shirt. Taking advantage of that, he set her down on her highchair.

"Isn't that much better?" He asked her as she wiggled her feet.

"JuJu, look. Who is that?" The new dad took out a small stuffed horse from his black and grey jacket and held it in front of her, moving it a little.

The baby held out her tiny hand to touch the pink hat the horse had on its head when she heard the sound of her lullaby coming from behind her. She grimaced and quickly started to cry again, visibly not pleased with the melody she was hearing.

"This music's not good, huh? I agree." Brandon mocked her facial expression. "Let's change it, alright?" He winked at her and quickly put the toy down before walking to the table behind her, closing Ariel's grandma's wooden music box and heading towards the music player that majestically sat on a dresser.

"Now for some country music, baby!" He exclaimed enthusiastically, turning on ' _Chasin' That Neon Rainbow_ ' by Alan Jackson, from his latest album that Ariel had gotten him the day it had come out.

The catchy notes echoed in the living room and the brown-haired man's smile grew in approval. His foot commenced to move in rhythm as his hand moved as well, his thumb and middle finger rubbing together to create a small beat. He then spun around and began to dance, doing moves that didn't fail to entertain his baby girl whom had stopped crying instantly.

From the pretend pulling rope dance move to the endless clapping, Juliet's eyes grew wide in amazement. Before she knew it, she found herself back in her father's arms, dancing with him all the while he held her hand in his, turning around. Happy squeals accompanied the beautiful voice of Alan Jackson.

By the time the chorus came, Juliet was back in her chair and Brandon was fixing her bottle for her, behind the kitchen counter.

" _Chasin' that neon rainbow, livin' that honky tonk dream, 'cause all I've ever wanted, is to pick this guitar and sing."_ He hummed, holding the bottle that he shook as he sang the line of the song he already knew by pretended to use it as a microphone before spinning around once, twice, still to the rhythm of the music.

His daughter, on the other hand, opened her mouth, trying to eat the stuffed horse's face while her eyes remained on her silly father. He noticed her staring and offered her a smile, continuing on with his dancing and shaking the bottle at the same time.

"Well, there's quite a party going on in there." A familiar southern drawl came from behind. Brandon looked over his shoulder as the redhead took an halt to stand beside him, leaning over the counter to glance in the direction of their daughter.

"You don't turn a year old everyday." He pointed out, winking at her.

"I don't know if I want to know what you'll do for her 18th birthday then." She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him to her. Her lips went to lay on his cheek, feeling the roughness of his growing beard against her much softer skin.

Holding in her hand the breadstick-turned-flower, she received a sheepish grin from the man beside her, in response.

One of her arms slipped away and rested on the counter on which she leaned as Brandon did the same, both now facing the sweet baby in her chair. Juliet was still playing with the toy that her father had given her, looking excited to see her mother.

Creating one last beat to the song that was now ending, Brandon gently hit the countertop with both his hands, his right hand going first and the left one following right after.

He contemplated the human being he had created with the woman on his left and couldn't believe she was turning a year old today. She was so much like her mama. She had his bright smile and eyes. But the rest of her, however, was very much Ariel. From her eyes to her personality and joy-of-living. He couldn't have been more in love with the two of them.

"Hey, Juliet!" Ariel called. "What do you think we're going to do tod—"

"Look at mommy, how cute is she?" The bearded man cut her off, wrapping his strong arms around her waist, enveloping her into a hug from behind. He took advantage of their position to tickle her sides which sent Ariel into a giggling fit. She tried to talk through her laughter but only onomatopoeias came out.

"B., stop." She eventually said, attempting to put her shirt back in place and freeing herself from his embrace. The movement had uncovered her shoulder which hadn't gone unnoticed by her husband.

"Never." He teased, kissing her bare shoulder.

There was something about today that made him even more thankful than he already was for all the blessings in his life. Seeing her beside him and their daughter, it just did something to him.

"You're not allowed to marry somebody else." He told her in a whisper.

Ariel arched an eyebrow, surprised by the declaration but knowing exactly what he intended to say with that.

"I'm already married to you, you moron."

Brandon was about to say something back but faltered upon hearing Juliet coo.

"Your daughter is going to lose her patience with you. The poor darlin' must be starved."

"And we all know how the women in this family get when they're hungry." He scoffed, letting his wife go and grabbed the bottle he'd put down just before.

* * *

It was now well into the morning and the family of three was busy playing on the floor in the living room when suddenly, the phone rang. Brandon and Ariel exchanged questioning glances, wondering who could be calling them and who'd be the one getting up to answer.

Seeing as it was their little one's birthday, they both knew it could have been anyone, including their respective parents.

At that idea, Ariel was the fastest to get back on her feet and rushed to the ringing telephone, thoughts of her family back in Oklahoma crossing her mind and putting a wide smile on her face.

She quickly took a hold of the receiver and brought it to her ear. All eyes were on her as she spoke. "Hello?" She asked cheerfully.

"Oh, hey Conran." Her voice sounded a little less enthusiastic upon realizing that it was not her family on the other end of the phone.

She knew they'd be calling her some time today and that they all wanted to let her enjoy her time with her husband and daughter but she couldn't wait for her mama to call. She missed her so much and it was on important celebrations like today, that distance was a huge burden to her.

"Yeah. Uh-huh. Thank you very much, I'll make sure to give her a kiss for ya. Sure, hold on."

She put the receiver over her chest, covering it so Conran would not get his eardrum pierced by hearing her call out for her husband.

"Bran, it's Conran." She let him know as she leaned over to try and see if she could catch a glimpse of him from her spot in the hallway.

"Your godfather." Brandon whispered to Juliet's ear, kissing her on the cheek as he got up from the floor with her in his arms.

He made his way to where Ariel was standing against the wall and they proceeded to exchange what they were both holding. Ariel handed the telephone to him and he, on the other hand, handed her the baby carefully.

"Hey Nino, what's up?" He asked, moving his hand over his wife's arm, mouthing _thank you_ to her. He then captured the device and brought it with him back inside the middle of the living room, making sure not to trip over the cable.

On the other end of the line, a slightly older man spoke from an outside telephone box, barely greeting his friend. His voice was rough, speaking into a handkerchief in the same hand in which he held the receiver.

"I spoke to my fink. He has informations on the Lombardi brothers."

Brandon frowned, hearing crackling and attempted to move the cable that had moved between his leg.

"Hold on, I can't hear you. Let me move." He let his friend and co-worker know, moving back to the hall and against the wall, where the phone was normally placed.

"They made arrangements for the transaction. We can bust them if we move fast." Conran continued, hurriedly.

"Where at?"

"White Plains, behind the interstate. _Fielding's Warehouse_."

"How long do you think it's going to take? It's Juliet's birthday and I—"

"I don't want to hear it, Bran. It's now or never. Come on, we've been waiting for this moment for months. _MONTHS_."

Brandon sighed. "Alright, I'm coming."

Ariel finally understood why her excitement had left when she had picked up the phone. Maybe she had sensed that her husband was going to have to get back to work. She had feared this moment especially today, of all days.

She hated her husband's profession more times than she liked it but she knew there was nothing she could do. She looked down at her feet, defeated. Juliet was back in her park and the redhead's curls fell over her eyes, hiding her face.

She didn't want to see her husband come up with an excuse to make her swallow the pill a little easier and she didn't want to see his broken smile as guilt would overtake him.

For a moment, she resented Conran for calling them but she knew he had not done so on purpose. She heard Brandon mumble something on the phone before he hung up.

Brandon tilted his head to look at his wife, standing in the middle of the living room, still in her oversized shirt.

He knew what she was thinking and he hated to leave her and their daughter right now, even more so knowing how much fun they had been having before the phone call had disturbed them but he was trying to look at the bright side of things and knew that the quicker this case was over, the better. Maybe then he'd actually get to have a day off.

"Baby, I'm sorry... I have to go."

It took everything in her not to roll her eyes. She had heard this sentence many times before. She didn't want to be mad at him but she didn't want to have to hide her disappointment.

"Brandon, it's Sunday. It's our daughter's birthday..." She pleaded with a stomp of her foot, playing with her fingers.

"I know and believe me, if I had to choose between staying here with you or going to work, the choice would be made faster than you could ask me the question. But I have to. There's no such thing as a Sunday for a FBI agent." He reminded her, walking towards her.

His hands quickly found her face and he cupped it gently, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs as he brought her closer to him. He pecked her lips and then her forehead tenderly. She accepted the kiss, leaning in momentarily.

Everything was short-lived for before she had time to realize what was going on, Brandon had already exited the room and was getting ready to leave.

Ariel turned her head to look at her innocent daughter, cheering herself up by reminding herself that at least she'd have her to herself for a couple of hours before her husband returned.

Putting his gun in his back pocket and grabbing his leather jacket, the anticipation of what was coming began to overtake the brown-haired man. He couldn't wait to get home to his girls and he had not even left yet. He'd be damned if he had to miss more than a few hours of his daughter's first birthday.

Brandon returned to the living room, walking briskly. He stopped once he was standing in front of his daughter and bent down to kiss the top of her head softly. He then wiggled his fingers in front of her before hooking his much bigger pinky finger with hers and leaning down once more to kiss her.

"I'll see you soon, pumpkin. You be good for your mama." He straightened up and gave Ariel a kiss on his way to the door.

Scratching the side of his jaw, he was about to put his hand on the doorknob when he heard her say his name, rushing towards him.

"Brandon, be careful."

"I will." He told her with a smile, turning around.

"No, I want you to promise me." She frowned, concern written all over her features.

Brandon nodded his head, not wanting to imagine how much stress he was putting on her, without meaning to.

"I promise you to be careful, as I always do." He reassured, stealing another kiss from her. She moved her hand over his shoulder, this time kissing him back properly, deepening it.

It was hard to pull away but he knew he had to or he'd never leave.

"I'll be back before you know it." And with that, he left, closing the door behind him.

Once behind the door, he smiled to himself, standing still for a couple of seconds. Ariel looked at the now closed door, a similar grin gracing her face. Amusedly, she reached for the doorknob and re-opened the door.

There, she found her husband facing her, looking as if he would have been the one to open the door again if she had been two seconds late.

"I Hart you." He said, pointing his finger at her.

Ever since they had gotten together, it had been an inside joke between the pair, a play on word with the last name they now shared and it had perdured, well after they had wed.

"I Hart you too."

Smiling at those words, he gave her a wink and closed the door for good. And for the _last_ time.


	2. Chapter 2

Conran was already waiting in his car by the time Brandon arrived on his motorcycle. He was parked in a corner, opposite of a supermarket parking lot.

It took several minutes for him to spot his older friend but as soon as he did, his bike was well-hidden, in a place he deemed safe. He walked towards the aging icy blue Mercury Marquis and opened the door, getting inside.

"Tell me." Brandon said, not wasting time.

He knew that the man sitting beside him would have some more information by now and if they wanted the mission to be successful, they'd need to run a few things by each other before they took action.

"The Lombardi brothers are inside but things are moving fast. The buyers have just arrived." Conrad explained, looking around.

He'd gained weight in the last couple of months, ever since his wife, Crystal and him had been having some marital trouble.

"Damnit, in just 5 minutes, everything could finally be over."

The FBI had been trying to track down the two Italian-born males for a couple of months now and not once had they managed to catch them in the act. They were smart and a step ahead of them.

They had their own methods and even though they were the enemies in the situation, both men had to admit that all of their plans so far had been maliciously thought-through. They had everything down to the nearest centimeter and whether they knew that they were being suspected, they had made it impossible for them to have proper proof of their dealings.

But today, they hoped, it was about to change.

"Do we have a backup team on the way?" Brandon questioned.

"Not until 20 minutes."

It was not the answer he'd hoped for but he knew that if they waited even a couple of more minutes, their opportunity could fall through and nothing could guarantee that they'd have one again.

"Let's have them together." He announced, racking the pistol slide, his grip as firm as steel.

"It's very risky, Bran." He heard his colleague remark.

The frown on his forehead made him look older than he actually was. He was anxious and Brandon knew it. If he had to be honest, he was, too.

But the father of the birthday girl attempted to chase any thought that could clutter his mind and distract him during the operation. His entire focus, after all, needed to be on making sure that nobody got hurt.

His fears, his doubts, nothing mattered. The intention was not to kill the brothers but to put a stop to their trafficking and get them to link the FBI to their headend.

And the sooner that happened, the sooner he'd be back home to the two loves of his life.

"We don't have a choice. You said it yourself, things are moving fast. We need to catch them red-handed." He slammed his hand on the glove compartment, making Conran take it as a hint that he needed to start the car.

The tires screeched, resonating in the mildly empty street. Both men's hearts began to race, the moment they had been waiting for was happening.

 _Finally_.

Brandon trusted his partner with his life and he knew that as long as they were a team, nothing could go wrong, they'd have each other's backs.

Conran, however, was not as convinced as he was. The idea that his snitch could have possibly misinformed him began to creep in. As an agent, it was astonishingly difficult to trust people around him and even though there was hardly ever a way to find out if he'd been lied to until he went and checked for himself, it was still something he had to prepare for.

Finks were just that, the very lowest form of human species, ready to rat on others any chance they got. His informer, this time, seemed trustworthy but it was no reason not to remain alert.

When they arrived in front of the back of the open warehouse, he slowed down, opting for a quieter and more discreet entrance. He could not afford to watch the Lombardi brothers slip through their fingers. Not again.

Silence was filling the vehicle as they approached the presumed meeting point.

The blue Mercury Marquis took a turn as Brandon's hand laid on the doorknob. The dark-haired man's lips formed a straight line, his vein on the side of his neck sticking out.

If Ariel had been there, she'd have been worried and immediately hurried to his side to trace her finger lightly over the pulsating vessels. He wasn't sure why but that vein always seemed to scare her.

There was nothing life-threatening about it but in her eyes, it was as though it would burst if it throbbed a minute longer. For that reason, she always did everything she could to make it disappear. She had always been protective of him, a natural worrier about those dear to her heart and it had only intensified when she had fell pregnant.

Nevertheless, he owed a lot to that vein, especially when they'd argue. The minute it would pop up, she would concede and her anger was out the window, all signs of an argument completely forgotten about.

* * *

 _"Way back in the day when the grass was still green, and the pond was still wet, and the clouds were still clean, and the song of the Swomee Swans rang out in space. One morning, I came to this glorious place."_ Ariel read out loud to her one-year-old daughter.

Her voice was soft and tender, articulating each words while attempting to make it as soothing and pleasing to the ear as possible for her little darling.

She had started reading to her the day she had found out she was pregnant. She attached great importance in starting early. Her husband often joked that it was the English teacher in her coming out in full swing.

Before Juliet was born, Ariel had been a high school teacher and although she had loved her students dearly, she had been struggling to make them enjoy reading. In consequence, and Brandon was right, she hoped to give her mini-her the taste of reading. She often fantasized of sharing books with her once she'd be old enough to read and discussing their thoughts on a story.

And, if she grew to be even more like her, she looked forward to poking fun with her at Juliet's father's poor grammar.

Both mother and daughter sat on Brandon's favorite chair in the room-turned office. Juliet laid comfortably against the crook of her arm.

Her little fingers played with the pages of the book the redhead had in her hands, big blue eyes staring at the pictures that were displayed in front of her. She was intrigued by all the colors and loved the softness of the paper.

Having finished her reading, the new mother pointed at the characters that were drown on the page, surrounding the cloud-shaped bubbles where the text was written.

"Look at all those pretty colors, JuJu." She whispered cheerfully, leaning down to kiss the rosy cheeks of the sweet girl.

Juliet giggled as she pointed at one of the Truffula Trees, as they were called in the book.

"Yellow"' Ariel declared brightly. "Do ya like this color?" She asked, looking down at her.

She received a nod in response and couldn't have been more delighted. It made her wish Brandon was there even more.

The birthday girl's little chubby fingers had went into her mouth and she now nibbled on them, silently.

"Mama!" She babbled, her innocent voice melting her mother's heart.

A trickle of saliva hung from her pouty lips to her index finger as she pointed at the orange colored tree. She then moved her head and grabbed a strand of hair on her mother's head.

"Oh yes, you are so right." She spoke, using her baby voice. "It looks exactly like mama's hair."

Even though every parent would say the same about their child, the redhead firmly believed that Juliet was very aware for her age and could understand more than most twelve-month-olds could. She had already learned so much from her and had her own distinct (and sassy) personality.

Gently squeezing her sides, Ariel tickled her. It sent the blonde haired girl into a laughing fit which only made her mother laugh in return. Her laughter was the most contagious sound she had ever heard. She could never get enough of it.

"Should we continue reading or do you want to get dressed for when daddy comes back?" Pulling back to look at her daughter, a playful yet serious look formed upon her face.

One of her eyebrows was raised and she soon made a funny face, trying to find a sign that could indicate what Juliet wanted to do next.

She turned her head to look at the clock, telling herself that if time had not flown by too fast, they could continue reading for a couple of more minutes or, if it was already later than she had imagined, they'd head to change so that they could continue celebrating when Brandon got home and surprise the hard-working man.

It was inching closer to 2 in the afternoon and he had only been gone for a little over an hour. She assumed that he would not be back for another two hours, if not more but she could not wait to see the baby in the new outfit she'd bought her and her excitement quickly took a hold of her, making her decide that the reading time was now over.

"Let's go dress up for daddy." She announced, closing the book and setting it aside, on the little table.

Half an hour went by and Ariel had dressed her one-year-old for the occasion. Like her husband had said, you could only turn a year old once.

Tears were building up in her eyes, as she held back from letting out a high-pitched squeal at the sight of her princess in her new outfit.

"Oh my gosh!" She gushed. "This is just too cute!"

And with that, she grabbed her camera, snapping her hundredth picture in just ten minutes.

"Brandon's not here to judge me so I may as well have some fun." She mumbled, trying to convince herself that she was not going over the top.

Juliet wore a big fuchsia bow in her already long hair and a stripped white and pink shirt with the number **1** written in italic, in sparkly golden. The rest of the outfit consisted of a matching pink tutu and golden shoes.

Despite her tough attitude, Ariel was a softie, she'd cry at sad commercials and the mere vision of something as heartwarming as a baby or a kitten could make her absolutely lose it.

"You are sweeter than Meemaw's shoofly pie." She leaned close, rubbing her nose against her daughter's much smaller one.

Up until she had met Brandon, she'd had no desire to have children. She had admitted before to never have been able to envision herself having any until she'd seen him play with her nieces and nephews.

Most of the beginning of her adult life had been spent with the conviction that she was fine with simply being an aunt and that while she loved children dearly, she was not made to become a mother. But here, with her daughter facing her, she was proving her younger self wrong.

"You're going to have daddy wrapped around your finger even more when he sees you." Ariel giggled.

She still felt a little bad for him, knowing he was already having a hard time resisting her cuteness. There was no doubt in her mind that Juliet would grow up to be a daddy's girl. She already was.

"Mama ought to change too, huh?" She pondered, looking at the baby for approval.

She pulled at her shirt before lifting the curious child and placing her over her hip.

"You're getting so big." She mused, walking towards the closet that she shared with the man of the house.

"Are you going to help me pick an outfit?" Keeping her eyes on her, she smiled at her daughter warmly, moving to stand in front of all the clothes that were organized by colors.

A couple of minutes went by and the birthday girl was still not convinced by the numerous choices in front of her. But, when they reached the end of Ariel's side of the closet, her face lit up. The toddler reached for a clothing item and held the fabric of a black and dark blue check shirt through her tiny fingers.

"This one?" Ariel asked, arching an eyebrow. She then proceed to pull the shirt out, holding it by its hanger.

The shirt was revealed to her and she couldn't help but make a sweet face as she realized that it was one of her husband's. She had only been on this Earth for a year but her daughter already had great taste. She was not a Hart for nothing.

"Hmm. I guess that could work."

Soon, the mother of one had changed into the shirt that had been picked for her, assorting it with a pair of jeans, a big belt and comfortable pair of cowboy shoes. Her 'Jacked-Up-To-Jesus' hair as she'd call it took no time to be done, only some retouches and a light application of hairspray were needed.

She did her makeup the way Brandon liked it, letting Juliet play with the brushes in the vast bedroom, checking on her every now and then as she'd glance from her spot in the bathroom.

She felt nothing but comfortable in her husband's shirt, loving its feel on her skin. She had the impression that she was carrying a part of him with her. She then used his cologne, applying some on her wrists, behind her ears, her collarbone and neckline.

Looking one last time at herself through the mirror as she set the bottle down where she had found it, she nodded her head in satisfaction before returning to the baby.

When she lifted her from the white fluffy blanket she sat on, Juliet immediately started frowned, wondering what could have caused that sudden mood change and brought her to her chest, soothingly running her hand up her small back.

Her face was buried into her neck as she continued to sniffle. Then, the delicate aroma of the cologne the redhead had on began to appease her and she slowly began to calm down.

She could tell that she was very receptive to the smell that possibly reminded her of her daddy and made a mental note to remember that whenever Brandon left and Juliet would crave his presence.

"Are you missing daddy?" She asked between kisses, her nose pressed against the blonde's soft skin.

"I miss him too." She pouted, sitting down on the bed.

"But he'll be back soon. We just have to wait for him to come back, alright?"

* * *

The lights of the vacant premises cast shadows across their path, highlighting their faces in the dark. Suddenly, Conran's grip on the wheel tightened as his feet pressed on the accelerator pedal.

 _Bang_. _Bang_.

The next seconds that followed were indescribable. From then on, everything went at lightening speed. A bone chilling sound echoed, taking both men by surprise. It came from the right corner, opposite of them.

Someone sat on the hood of a car and shot in their direction. The bullet ricocheted on the windshield as the gunman continued to shoot. The firing illuminated the area in which he was positioned.

Brandon and Conran had to react fast, there was no time to think about their strategy. Each movement had to be on impulse. There was no sticking to plan for they could never predict what the enemy would do.

Out of reflex, the two FBI agents bent down. Brandon slid down his seat and hid under the glove compartment and Conran used the wheel as protection.

"Move! Move!" The younger man exclaimed, leaning towards the driver, reaching for the wheel.

Conran listened and promptly drove the car to the other side of the empty warehouse. There were large concrete panels encompassing the room, separating it.

He'd barely had time to stop the car that Brandon had already exited it, holding his arm up, gun in hand.

"FBI!" He yelled.

There was something odd about the scene, as though the brothers had known they were coming. It was almost like they had been expecting them. They had either finished with the transaction or Conran's snitch had told them that they'd be paying them a visit.

So far, from what he could conclude - unless, of course, there were other people around that he had not yet seen, there was only one car. And no sign of the buyers.

It was incredibly suspicious that there was only one if today was, as they had been informed, a big business dealing.

No, something was not adding up and while it was too early to say, Brandon could not shake the bad feeling he was getting. There had to be other accomplices somewhere.

The time it had taken for Conran to drive to the other side had been enough for the gunman that sat on the hood of the car to get back inside of it. As Brandon ran towards one of the panels in the middle of the place, firing at them, the shining black car moved.

It drove past him and he turned his upper body, following the direction they were taking. Once the back of the car was facing him, the men inside launched at him. Now, the gunfires were repetitive and strong.

The FBI agent wasn't distraught by their actions, he'd expected a fusillade to happen, even if it was not the best scenario he'd envisaged. He continued to fire back but when his opponents unsheathed other weapons that seemed to be more powerful than the gun he had, he knew better than to tempt fate and retreated back to another concrete block, using it to shield himself.

There, he took a deep breath, attempting to get his galloping heartbeat to a much more normal rhythm. He wasn't sure where the car was now but he had to take advantage of the little time he got to catch his breath. It only lasted a brief instant as he was interrupted by Conran's loud voice, coming from his right.

"Don't fucking move!" The older man spoke. One of his feet was in front of the other as he held his weapon in both his hands, staring straight ahead.

Brandon turned his head to watch the scene unfold in front of him. Instantly, things were beginning to be a little more normal. There was indeed more people around but how had they known that they were coming?

"It's the FBI, do not go anywhere." Conran repeated, ready to shoot.

The man he was trying to corner backed up and expertly moved his hand on the doorknob beside him. Faster than anyone could process, he had already opened the door and walked into another room.

The sound of tires screeching was heard again, this time coming from a different car. They seemed to have been hiding in the pitch black area, behind the car Brandon had been firing at a minute ago. He assumed that they had been there all along. They had spotted him and the brown-haired man looked on his other side, catching the sight of a white male with his arm out of the window, his gun in hand.

Regaining his composure and gathering momentum, Brandon came out of his hiding place and resumed his shooting. He ran after the car, dodging the gunshots.

He knew at this moment that his team had lost and that there was no logical way they would be able to catch them now. He fired one last time all the while slowing down his pace, his ears catching the sound of the car driving away and out of the warehouse.

There was still hope that they'd be able to jump in their vehicle and chase them on the road or that reinforcement would arrive anytime but he wasn't too confident. He dropped his arm in defeat, turning back around.

Just then, a loud, rippling noise sliced through the air. It came directly from where Conran had been standing.

"Conran!" Brandon shouted, running as fast as he could to where he had last seen his partner.

The sound had terrorized him and he was uncertain who had caused the commotion. He hoped that the older man had been the one shooting, and not the other way around.

The FBI agent had been too caught up in rushing to his partner's aid that he'd fallen to notice the hooded man that seemed to have come from out of nowhere. He was midway into the air, his feet ready to land back on the concrete surface of the warehouse when, the foe, wearing black from head to toe flung a long metallic bar at him.

The shock of the hit immediately stopped him in his tracks, pushing him backwards. The strong blow resonated in the entire construction and, almost as if time had stopped and the scene was unfolding in slow-motion, Brandon gradually felt himself touching the ground, his grip on his gun loosening in the process.

When he hit the floor, the pace quickened and everything was no longer happening in slow-motion. He fell fast, feeling the strength of the tumble in his back. The weapon slipped out of his hand, landing right beside him as he laid with his arm stretched out.

One of his legs was laying straight while the other was bent. His entire body ached and he found it difficult to breath or to even form a simple thought. If not for the indefinable pain he felt, he'd have presumed he had died.

The only sounds that were coming out of him were inaudible throaty whimpers. He could taste the blood in his mouth and his life flashing before him.

His eyes were threatening to close while he tried his hardest to keep them open. A sharp cut irritated his cheek, it was deep and engorged with blood. The laceration was of a few inches long, a result from the contact of the metallic bar.

He had no idea where Conran was or if he was still alive but if one of them had to go today, he hoped that he could be spared. How was Juliet supposed to grow up without her dada?

A deafening ringing in his ears forced him to close his eyes for a brief instant. Then, almost as suddenly as the entire ordeal had taken effect, it disappeared. For him, that was it. He had to have lost his hearing.

His eyes reopened slowly in horror, hardly able to recognize his surroundings. His eyesight was blurry but he could still see the imposing figure standing above him, pointing their pistol at him.

As he could not move his head, only their legs and black shoes came into view. The person, undoubtedly a man, was slightly overweight, much bigger than he was. Their intentions and next move were unclear but one thing was for sure, his weakness led the gunman to have the upper hand.

The ruthless man firmly held the gun he was aiming at Brandon and, without hesitation, he pulled the trigger.


	3. Chapter 3

"Brandon Hart, 34."

A woman informed in a rushed tone. Her voice was faint, or so it sounded in his weakened state. He had lost consciousness after the incident in the warehouse and, he'd began to no more than partly open his eyes when he had felt jostled and moved around.

He had no idea where he was or who had flown to his aid. All he knew, in that moment, was that he wasn't alone but that he could trust the ones hovering over him.

"It's a gunshot wound." The same woman continued, glancing down at him.

She seemed to be talking in a walkie-talkie, clinging firmly to the white bar above her head, keeping her balance. She was wearing an all-Caribbean blue scrubs and if her voice was any indication of the location of the injury or its emergency, things were not looking good for him.

 _A nurse_.

He had no business doing with someone like that, not on his daughter's birthday. He was supposed to be with her and his wife, not laying here, surrounded by strangers.

He wanted to shout at them, telling them to leave him alone and to let him get back to his family but all the energy he had was drained out of his body and, the rational part of him knew that both woman and man by his side were here to help him.

"Blood pressure down by three points." The medic announced, squinting underneath their large glasses.

He had no idea what any of it meant and he wasn't sure he would either had he been in a better disposition. Everything felt surreal, he could have sworn his soul had left his body.

No, none of this was really happening. He had to be having a bad dream. One he could not wake up from. And all of this confusion made him feel even weaker than he already was.

He knew that he needed to keep his eyes open but the tension in the ambulance made it increasingly difficult.

Instead, he let his eyelids close progressively, letting his body go limp exhaustingly on top of the uncomfortable stretcher.

* * *

Black finger nails tapped on the wooden table impatiently, following a constant and rhythmical pattern, the Paris-themed clock on the wall echoing in unison.

Although it certainly didn't help her overstimulated mind, she couldn't help herself. She half-attempted to stop her hand from moving but the result was as ineffective as the last time she'd tried to bake her own red-velvet cake.

Luckily for her, Juliet was a relatively calm child and was quietly keeping to herself, fascinated by the black and white images displayed on the television screen as she watched a woman and her best friend, both gifted with colorful personalities - much to the despair of their husbands.

Ariel couldn't have been more thankful for the 50's sitcom, keeping her daughter entertained as thousands of thoughts filled her head.

As much as she loved her one-year-old, she knew she would have had an eventual meltdown had she been screaming at the top of her lungs or been in a very capricious mood while she was fidgeting, quite excessively on the edge.

"He should be home by now!" She mumbled to herself, slamming her hand on the table, her now dancing fingers laying flat in front of her.

It wasn't that she was angry at him for leaving or that she felt remorseful that she hadn't tried harder to hold him back but the nagging feeling she felt - that pierced her deep in her chest, numbing her - was driving her insane.

She couldn't fathom the idea of her husband being in any kind of danger and she was praying the Lord that she was simply being paranoid.

"He will walk in, in any minute and show you how much of a dang fool you're being."

The redhead tried to resonate with herself, wanting to stop all the worrying she was doing. She refused to let any bad memory happen on what a year ago, had been the most beautiful day of her life, after her wedding.

Brandon was her moron, after all, he would do things that certainly increased her blood pressure or made jokes to purposely annoy her but one thing he had never done was leave her side, even when, at times, she wanted him to. His work often put him in tough situations but he always found his way home to her.

"He can't leave me a widow or I'll find a way to haunt _him_." She scoffed, in a typical Ariel fashion.

Her cheeks were puffed as the woman dramatically pouted, glaring at the chair in front of her.

Just then, a sudden succession of shrilling rings cut the silence in the room, startling her and putting an end to her thoughts. She peered towards the phone and without having time to process anything, jumped to her feet.

"It's him!" She grinned, her face lighting up.

"He's calling to apologize for taking so long and tell us he's on his way home." She quickly added, her hand reaching for the phone handset.

With her opposite hand, she fixed a strand of hair and examined herself through the mirror. If her suspicion was right and her husband was indeed on his way home, she wanted to look perfect for him.

Two hours had flown by since she'd gotten Juliet dressed in her tutu and had put on the outfit that she'd picked out for her. But as indecisive and as stubborn as a mule, she'd changed her mind and opted for something a little different than what she was used to wearing.

After all, today was a special day, was it not? In this time-lapse, she'd had a bit of extra time to get ready. She now wondered if her impatience came from wanting to see his reaction to the new outfit she had on.

She was wearing the light beige, almost white summer dress that her best friend, Lorraine, had gotten her for encouragement following her postpartum weight-loss journey.

She could fit into it now and the dress complimented her figure, it gave her curves in the right places, hugging her body in a way that flattered her. She felt confident in it and knew she would need to thank her auburn-haired friend for that thoughtful present.

The particularly of the dress was its neckline that showed some of her shoulders and collarbones, similar to Brigitte Bardot's classic styles that she could have been seen wearing in some of her movies. The sleeves were thin, contrasting the detailed patterns on the bottom, of flowers and olive branches.

There was no doubt that Brandon would love the dress on her, especially when it highlighted the constellations of freckles speckled across her skin. She wasn't very fond of them, always trying to find ways to cover them up but him, on the other hand, was crazy about them and had taught her to embrace the reddish little dots she'd been blessed with.

"Hey, baby!" She announced cheerfully, tilting her head slightly so that the phone could rest between her shoulder and her ear.

The excitement was short-lived when a familiar voice but different to the one she'd expected responded.

Earlier today, she had been hoping for the person on the other end of the phone to be calling, but now that it was a reality, she felt disappointed.

The timing simply was not right.

"Oh, hi mama. It's you."

* * *

When he feebly reopened his eyes, he was almost blinded by the intense stripes of lights that were coming and going as he laid on his back, a strange sensation of something applying pressure on his head bothering him.

They had bandaged his forehead during his unconscious episode and he could feel himself being wheeled hurriedly inside interminable halls. The source of lights that he was greeted by were originating from the ceiling and soon enough, he understood that they had made it to the hospital.

A couple of people were hovering over him, one of which he recognized was the same nurse who was still standing by his side.

Blood had run down his neck and made its way to his now almost bare chest while an opaque oxygen mask had been placed over his mouth.

"The injury is located on his left temporal lobe." Someone announced as Brandon stared straight ahead, his eyes devoid of life, arms lying by his sides.

"We'll take care of you, sir. Can you keep your eyes open? Please, stay with us." Another unfamiliar voice added, as the group of medics continued to push the wheeled bed.

One of them looked down at him and then back in front of him, assuring that nothing had changed within the fragment of second that had just passed.

Only a couple of minutes went by before the loud beep of a monitor filled the emergency room he had been taken to.

A different group of people, all wearing masks over their mouths and hygiene caps on their heads were gathered around. Every individual was deeply concentrated, each having important tasks to perform.

"Careful! We're losing him. He's febrile." A man spoke in a panicked tone while, nonetheless, keeping his professional composure.

Glances and nods were exchanged, eyes roaming around the bed and the unconscious man laying down.

"Prepare for the shock." He added as his team didn't waste time to attempt reviving him with the defibrillator equipment.

It was a woman's turn to speak this time as she looked down at the screen, rotating quickly to look at her colleague beside her. "Pulse still hasn't resumed."

The rest of the team moved away, leaving only two medics by Brandon's side as they gave it another attempt. His upper body moved up with the strong shock generated by the electronic device before falling back down onto the bed.

His arms dropped from his sides, now practically hanging in the air, by the bed. The man standing above him frowned.

"Let's try again." He announced, his eyes never leaving the younger man's opened but lifeless ones, trying not to distract himself with the deafening ringing sound that kept echoing around him.

He then proceeded to administer a third electric shock and another, and another...

* * *

"Of course I've taken pictures, mama. Do you know who you're talking to?" Ariel giggled into the phone.

She was still talking to her mother and although she had not been thrilled to receive her call a couple of minutes ago, having hoped that it could have been her husband, she had to admit now that she was starting to feel much better.

She had forgotten just how easily her mother could lift her spirits. She hoped to have the same affect on Juliet and would try her best to make her daughter know that she could always count on her.

"I'm telling you, we will need an entire room just to fit all of her scrapbooks. We'll never have enough shelves." She added, twirling the telephone's cord around her finger.

There was simply something about the comforting voice of a mother and, living in New York, she'd missed the sweet sound of a southern accent.

Even though her home was with Brandon and Juliet now and she'd never trade that for anything in the world, she savored the feeling of being someone's daughter rather than someone's mother for a change. It lifted some responsibility off her shoulders and, after the stress she'd put on herself today, it was something she welcomed eagerly.

Their conversation shifted from different subjects, the duo talking about everything and anything, catching up with each other on the latest news, anecdotes on their respective lives. Ariel shared a story about Brandon dressing up as a princess for their daughter but ending up being more upset than the one-year-old was, when the cheaply-made crown broke and her mother bragged about the addition of a new foal in the ranch.

According to her, there'd been arguments concerning the naming of the animal and she received a quick confirmation of that statement upon hearing her two sisters faintly arguing in the background.

"Put Alice and Susie on speaker. I miss them so much!" The redhead said, her bottom lip sticking out, pouting.

Being a teacher and then taking care of a baby, she'd been busy in the last couple of years, so considerably that she'd barely had time to realize just how much she'd missed her family back in Oklahoma.

Talking to them was always like being hit upside the head with a frying pan. she'd suddenly be submerged with feelings she had not realized she'd been holding in, a bittersweet mix between nostalgia from reminiscing about all the good times they'd had as a family, happiness to be hearing from them again and sadness for having missed certain moments - important or not - or them missing out on some events as well.

"I don't." The older McKinney woman replied, her heartfelt laughter gracing her daughter's ears.

She couldn't help but laugh along with her.

"Bless your heart for putting up with them." She teased.

"It could be worse. I could have you to put up with!" Her mama retorted, earning a scoff in response.

All three women lost track of time, chatting for some more minutes without interruption. Every now and then, Ariel would glance towards her baby girl to make sure that she was doing okay and had not gone anywhere.

Juliet sat at the same spot, no longer watching ' _I Love Lucy_ ' but had her big blue eyes fixed on her mother. Her mother winked at her, a silly grin immediately forming on her rosy lips when she heard the innocent squeal of the blonde responding to her interaction.

Soon, she demanded some silence as she could hear a ringing in the headset, indicating that there was a call waiting.

Her heartbeat accelerated as thoughts of Brandon began to form in her head again, sincerely hoping that it'd be him this time.

The call had brought her back to reality and made her aware that almost another hour had gone by and she was still without any news from him.

"Mama, Alice, Susie... can you hold on for a second? I think Brandon's calling."

With that, she pressed on one of the buttons and was now directly in communication with the person on the other end of the line. She was about to open her mouth, firmly expecting to hear her husband's voice but was taken off guard when, once again, someone else's filled her ear.

"Mrs. Hart?" She heard a man speak, the timbre of his voice was serious and his manner solemn.

"That's me." Ariel replied, subconsciously gripping the edge of the furniture in front of her.

"I'm Doctor Craig from White Plains Hospital." The man began to inform her while her heart dropped to her feet.

Her breathing increasing, tears beginning to build up in her eyes. Wasn't it where Brandon's meeting point was supposed to be?

"I'm afraid I have some bad news." He continued slowly, not one to deliver something like this as if he'd just asked someone to pass him the salt during dinner time.

"O-oh?" The redhead cleared her throat, unable to form a proper sentence and uncertain about the reaction she was expected to have.

"There's been an accident. Your husband, Brandon Hart, was shot. We tried what we could but—"

Her hands let go of the telephone, dropping it instantly. It loosely hung from the wall, the cable preventing it from falling to the ground as the sudden movement made it swing from one side to the other, coming to hit her in the tibia.

Her right hand shook while she moved it to cover her mouth, muffling her cry as best as she could, not wanting to startle her daughter.

It didn't take long before her chest began to rise up and down, feeling oppressed and a panic attack coming right up. Her legs nearly gave out and she had to grip the furniture again by fear of collapsing.

Eventually, the force in which she held onto the wooden dresser lessened and one of her legs slipped, making her lose her balance and fall. Her dress covered her feet as she caught herself with her forearm, leaning on her side, looking down onto the ground where she now half-laid.

This couldn't be happening, no.

Tears fell freely down her porcelain skin, the worst scenarios forging in her mind. She had not given the doctor a chance to continue his explanation regarding what had happened but the mere thought of her husband being injured, shot no less, was more than enough and justly so, to send her into the state she was currently in.

"Bran..." She whispered, gripping her dress and rolling her hand into a fist.

"Dada!" Juliet lightheartedly babbled, drool forming on the corner of her lips. She was moving her chubby arms up and down, hitting her knees.

It was her birthday, she was far from knowing or even understanding what had transpired and that only broke her mother's heart more.

The doctor's voice was heard again, his worry detectable through the headset.

"Mrs. Hart? Mrs. Hart?"

* * *

A man came to view, laying down on a bed. He wore a white gown with light blue polka dots all over it, his head slightly tilted to the side and the expression on his face indicated that he was merely immersed in his sleep.

Then, following the moment of his head, like a camera, another man could be seen. This time, he was positioned by his left, opposite of him. He too laid on a bed, showing signs of a much deeper sleep.

There didn't seem to be much of an age difference between the two strangers and he was uncertain as to what he was doing in the same room as them.

Something about the environment he was in made him feel uneasy. He squinted momentarily, his eyes scanning the room ever so slowly before he was blinded by the light emerging from the window, beside the man that he had been glancing at.

Progressively, he turned his head further to his left, his eyes still half-open. There, a woman with her head thrown back seemed to be doing what the two other men were.

But as he continuously began to regain consciousness, he grew more and more aware of the incessant beeping sound, ringing in his ear. It was steady and seemed to follow a certain rhythm.

He looked down, his eyes catching the white fluffy blanket over his knee and the various other objects that filled the room. There was a big screen next to the woman, right in front of him. It seemed to be monitoring her heartbeat.

Farther to the left, there was a small television screen. It seemed ridiculously small and ancient in comparison to the other one.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to focus his eyesight on the rest of his surroundings. He was lucid enough to realize that he was in an hospital room and the pressure he felt on his finger only certified that. The pulse oximeter felt heavy on his numbed hand.

He soon caught sight of a black woman, wearing royal blue scrubs and a turquoise hygiene cap. She was pushing what seemed to be a trolley, the only person full of life and energy in the entire room.

Despite the serious look on her face, there was something friendly that irradiated from her. The man felt a little more at peace watching her. His eyes followed her movements, intrigued as she came to a stop near him, reaching for a black file holder that had a pen attached to it.

She hastened to scribble a couple of words on it, stopping her movements when she heard a whimper coming from his direction.

Her eyes widened, as she put down the document holder as well as the pen onto the cart. She looked at Brandon as though she'd seen a ghost, pausing for a moment; distraught, as if she was attempting to make sure that she had not imagined that sound.

Brandon let out another muffled moan, slowly beginning to move. The look on her face was replaced by a shocked one rather than a frightened one but she took a step back, nonetheless.

Her right hand flew to her forehead as she began to do the sign of the cross. It was quick and her fingers lingered on her chest before she dropped her hand to her side, staring at the man in front of her. Her mind was racing, thoughts of the Lord clouding it.

While his breathing increased and the sounds escaping his mouth began to be more audible, the nurse, on the other hand, took small, little steps closer to him.

She was confused and to say that she was thinking that her eyes were deceiving her was an understatement. She furrowed an eyebrow once she stood at his level. She leaned towards him, taking a good look at him.

"Are you alright, sir?" She said in almost a whisper.

"Birth... birthday." The FBI agent mumbled, groggily.

He had difficulty speaking and the woman in front of him could hardly make out what he was trying to say.

What was to him a perfectly understandable sentence was a bunch of incomprehensible words to her.

"My daughter." He pressed, trying to clear his throat.

The nurse leaned even closer to him, a frown drawn on her rounded face. Her ear was now close to his mouth so that she could understand him better.

"Pardon?" She asked softly.

"Did I—" He took a deep breath, commencing his sentence. "Did I—-" He paused again, letting out a groan. "Did I miss my daughter's birthday?" His question came out more clearly now and she comprehended him.

She moved away from her position, her face gradually moving. She nodded her head, her dark eyes meeting his lighter ones.

"Yes." With a whisper and another nod came her response.

"How man— How long have I been here?" He demanded, still speaking under his breath.

He was trying to minimize his movements as much as he could, feeling extremely exhausted. It was as though all of his strength had been drained from his body.

"20."

"20 days?" He asked.

The woman's facial expression fell and her features darkened.

At this moment, she looked older than she had, even a split second ago. Her heart broke from concern over the long and bushy-bearded man in front of her.

"20 _years_."


	4. Chapter 4

_20 years._

Her words echoed in his head, shaking him to the core. Suddenly, he was back in his comatose state after he'd gotten shot all those years ago.

The painful realization ricocheted like a bullet, going straight to his chest, shattering the tissues surrounding his heart. He'd be lying if he said it didn't feel like he had been hit again.

His bottom lip quivered and almost as if it was done in synchronization, his eyes began to fill with tears. He bit the inside of his mouth, hoping to stop the inevitable.

He then moved his head so it could lay back in the middle of the pillow, no longer inclined towards the nurse. His eyes were facing the ceiling now, a lump forming in his throat. He wanted to close his eyes but knew that at least one tear would fall if he did that.

Instead, he let out a small sigh and gathered the strength to speak.

"A mirror." His voice broke into a soft plead. "Please."

The nurse nodded her head before he had time to finish his first word, complying to his request right away.

She knew that he needed to look at himself in order to believe what she had told him and she understood his desire to know what he looked like, if 20 years had really gone by.

She couldn't fathom what he was going through. She had not seen herself age through the years but _that_ was different. He had fallen asleep as a thirty-something-year-old and was now a middle-aged man, his infant daughter herself was now an adult.

She moved towards the cart, grabbing a red-colored and round-shaped mirror, one side was plain while the other was magnified, allowing more details to be visible to the human eye.

She quickly turned back around, opening it for him as she was greeted by the heartbreaking sight of a man crying over the loss of half of his life.

He had not been able to contain the tears any longer and they fell, freely, each one rolling down his cheeks faster than the last.

His face had reddened and the misery was written all over his features. The corners of his mouth were down, forming some sort of a bent line.

As he took a deep shaky breath, the woman held the mirror in front of him. She patiently waited for him to turn his head back to the side so he could look at himself.

She was letting him take all the time he needed.

Silence filled the room, all the other patients still peacefully asleep. He mentally prepared himself for what he was going to be greeted by and turned his head, his eyes catching his reflection for the first time.

There, he could see his fully grown dark beard, the wrinkles around his eyes and forehead that had never been there before. He couldn't believe that he happened to be the man in front of him.

To him, it was like looking at a stranger, somebody who had familiar features, that he was supposed to know but that he didn't quite recognize.

He no longer felt like Brandon Hart, the FBI agent, husband and father of one. His own identity was a mystery to him and although he had only been awake for a couple of minutes, he was feeling more like he was being born again and that the first 34 years of his life had never existed.

He knew now that the accident would define him forever.

He had registered too many informations, too soon and acknowledged that he'd be better looking away but he simply couldn't. His eyes kept fixing his reflection and he broke down.

Eventually, he closed his eyes tightly, the wrinkles around them even more apparent.

All he could think about at this moment was Ariel and his daughter.

He had never wanted to miss her first birthday and had hoped to come home to spend that special day with her and there he was, having missed 21 one of them.

* * *

Hands on the steering wheel, Ariel sat in her car. She had no idea how long she had been in there but she knew, indeed, that it had been for at least a couple of minutes.

She was parked in the hospital parking lot, far away from the main entrance. She'd heard the news about an hour ago and she was still attempting to wrap her head around it.

At first, she had thought that she had been dreaming or that it was a disgraceful prank and, after uttering a couple of not-so-nice words to the innocent doctor, she'd been mortified by her choice of words upon realizing that it was reality.

In her defense, she had waited twenty years for that moment. Twenty years of her life had been spent wishing for that day to happen.

And, although a significant part of her had long given up hope, the other side of her had still held onto the possibility that this miracle could happen.

There was a chance in a million and Brandon was _her_ chance in a million. But, as happy as the news were supposed to make her, it was not as simple as she'd have imagined.

Things were different now.

She was a different woman with her own life and she assumed that Brandon would be too, as soon as he'd begin to be conscious enough to discover his own new identity and did some self-searching.

After all, one could not spend twenty years sleeping and wake up unchanged.

Even if to him, yet, he was simply waking up from a long sleep and he was still in a completely different decade, oblivious to all the technological prowess and major events that had occurred since.

In fact, if she had to be honest, the idea of coming face-to-face with Brandon petrified her. She'd visited him so many times she'd lost count.

For years, she was there every day and then the years passed and the doctor's hopefulness began to fade and questions arose concerning the idea of unplugging him and naturally, her visits decreased.

She could no longer bear watching him, not moving, begging him to wake up with tears rolling down her cheeks until her body laid exhaustingly on top of his. It was not good for her mental health and visiting him every day never changed a thing.

Each time, she refused the doctor's suggestions and gave the simple answer that Brandon needed more time. It was a selfish act on her part, being unable to let him go. Being unable to accept the fact that he was gone and clinging to the little part of him that was still very much alive.

There was no telling about the condition in which he'd wake up from and if he did, her stubbornness could have led to a life of misery and incapacity for him.

Now, all of her distant prayers had been answered and she was oh so thankful for the decision she had made and for trusting her instincts.

She had been made aware and reassured by the medical crew that the ex-FBI agent was not insuring any danger and all of them had insisted on the fact that it was a veritable miracle.

He was well-known around the hospital, having being there for as long as he had but none of them had known him in a different state other than his sleeping one.

It was a big adjustment for everybody.

What was she supposed to say to him? What if he was disappointed when he saw her? She had seen him age overtime, she knew what he looked like but he didn't.

What if he didn't like her wrinkles or no longer found the woman he once called his wife attractive? There were so many questions and she had no answers to any of them.

But most importantly, how would he take the news? How would he react? What were his expectations?

Without realizing it, the redhead was holding the steering wheel tighter, her hands almost shaking due to the force she was using. Her heart was racing and she was panting, rapid breaths coming out of her slightly parted lips.

She was trying to get herself to open the door, get out of her vehicle so she could reunite with the man she had loved with all her heart.

* * *

"Could I have some water, Babu?" Brandon murmured.

An extra pillow had been put behind his back for more comfort, keeping him in a half laid down, half sat up position. He had to take it easy, after all.

"Right away." The nurse offered him a smile, a little relieved to see he had calmed down from the horrifying revelation he had woken up to.

Of course, she knew that the pain wouldn't go away this easily, if ever but to see him articulate some words and to know that the shock had not caused any bad reaction on his body was already a huge improvement from the last four hours.

She quickly left the room to fulfill her patient's request, walking down the long and empty hallway.

She turned the corner, arriving to her destination when her eye caught the doctor's who was leaning against the wall, a folder displayed in front of him on the table as he sipped on a tasteless coffee.

"How is he doing?" He asked her when she entered the room.

There was no need to elaborate on which patient he was enquiring about, she already knew. The news had broken around the hospital and the FBI agent was already quite the star.

After all, it was not everyday that miracles like this happened and if he had to be honest, it was the first time he witnessed one as important.

"Morally, I mean."

He had come to see him shortly after he'd woken up, making sure that everything was okay and that there was no potential complications.

Then, he had gone back to his other patients for his usual round and was finally taking a well-deserved break.

"Well, Dr. Craig…" Babu began, grabbing a plastic cup. "As okay as you could, given the circumstances." She explained with a sigh as she leaned on her tippy-toes to reach for a pitcher.

Seeing her fingers wiggle as an attempt to grab the desired item, the man moved from his spot, pushing himself off the wall and lifted his arm up.

"Here, let me." He told her softly, his hand on the handle, removing the pitcher from the shelf and lowering it down to her level so she could take it from him.

"Thank you." The black woman nodded in appreciation, earning a movement of the hand from the doctor indicating that there was nothing to be thanking him for.

"Have you had time to call his family?"

"Yes. Yeah, of course."

He tilted his head to the side, grimacing before taking the last sip of his coffee and throwing the white plastic cup in the trash beside him.

"His wife should be on her way."

"The poor woman." Babu shook her head, closing her eyes for a moment as she filled the pitcher with water for Brandon to use later if he got thirsty again.

"It's going to be tough. Very tough." He admitted, straightening his white coat.

"Once he's began his journey to recovery, aside from physical therapy, I think we should look into getting him some psychological treatment. Getting back into the real world won't be an easy task and I think he needs some professional help for that. His family can only do so much."

"I think you're right, Dr. Craig. See, the first thing he asked about was his daughter. I'm afraid seeing her will cause him more harm than good. She's not a little baby anymore." She paused. "She isn't coming now, is she?"

"No, only his wife. I believe she said she was studying abroad."

"Good, that'll give him time to adjust."

A silence fell upon them and the salt-and-pepper haired man made his way to the door, grabbing his folder in the process.

"Babu?"

She raised an eyebrow, as if to encourage him to go on.

"Will you let me know when Mrs. Hart has arrived? I might be busy by the time she does but I'll have someone take over. I don't want to make her wait, she has waited long enough now. It's the least I can do."

"You can count on it." She smiled, closing the water container she held in her hands and setting it on a tray where the plastic cup was already on.

The doctor left the room and she didn't waste time returning to Brandon's room.

When she entered the private room he had been moved to, she saw him running his hand over the fluffy white blanket on his lap.

He had pulled it up to his chest, his head almost buried in it as he took in the familiar scent. His heart rate was normal and she could sense that this moment gave him peace.

"She'd visit every day, you know." Her voice startled him as he let go of the blanket to look up at her.

He could only smile at the information.

"One day she couldn't stand not being able to take you home so she said she'd bring home to you." She continued, recalling the redhead's thoughtful attention.

"And it never left your side since."

* * *

The clicking of her boots next to Babu's silent walk was the only sound in the deserted hospital hallway. She had never seen anything this white in her life. The walls, the floor, the ceiling, everywhere around her was of an immaculate white. The built-in lights in the ceiling shone so brightly, they nearly blinded her.

The lack of noise only accentuated her nervousness. If it hadn't been for the nurse by her side, she swore she would have turned on her heels and took off running.

Hospitals had always made her uneasy and seeing it so empty, devoid of any sign of life made her feel as though she had entered the set of a horror movie. She could feel a headache forming and the silence led her to a never-ending fight with her thoughts.

She wished she could have, with the force of her mind, made appear a couple of people, patients like her or workers, so that her focus could drift on watching them going about their activities rather than the war inside her head.

But it wasn't the same, this time.

Yes, her day had been turned upside down once more but the news were good. She should be thankful, she reprimanded herself. The sight that would greet her eyes would be much more pleasant than the one that had greeted her twenty years ago.

"Maybe that was it", she thought.

The silence.

Every time she had come for a visit at this very place, she'd be greeted with this exact nothingness.

Her life with Brandon for the past two decades had been just that, silence. She had been so used to it, unwillingly, but now, it was about to change.

What if she no longer knew how to speak? What would be her first word to him? Her life had taken another turn and nothing or nobody could have prepared her for that.

Babu's welcoming smile had tightened a little, and she momentarily cursed her position - always passive, never really there. It was not her place to help her, ask her what was on her mind though she had a faint idea.

If it had been an assignment for her students, based on a book Ariel had made them read, she'd be a plot device, a secondary character. A surplus to the main story and removable if necessary. In short, there was nothing she could do or say that could reduce the weight of the pain the woman was carrying.

As she watched her, walking by her side, thorns worn down by a phone call that had left her visibly shaken up.

Inhaling deeply and revealing an expression downturned and humorless, the redhead stood tall. Her posture was straight as she stared right ahead, the sounds of the steps she took continuing to echo in the narrow corridor.

"How is this possible?" She heard herself ask, faltering.

Her hair was up, a thin strand falling down her right side, framing her face. She had not done anything to it today, having opted for an all-natural look.

Her curls still looked as vibrant as they did all those years ago but the volume was no longer there. She had lost it as she began to age. She wore a khaki trench-coach that stopped at her knees, complimenting her red hair and pale complexion.

As for makeup, it was minimal. She had been busy with paperwork and it was her day off. She'd only put on some mascara, blush and applied a pinkish lip-gloss for a better finish.

On second thought, she regretted not wearing foundation as her eyes wrinkles were even more visible without anything to cover them.

Letting her arm gently hit her own side, Babu took a ragged breath. "The doctors will explain it to you." She told her in a soft voice.

"But…" She continued, now gesturing with her hands in front of her.

"It's really like a miracle." And it was.

Ariel nodded her head, half-heartedly at best, a smile edging in cautiously.

"Can I talk to him?" She heard herself suddenly ask, having not even realized she had uttered those words.

If she had been pleased by the news, it hadn't been obvious... until now. There was a newfound excitement, a thrill in her voice and something in her eyes that had lit up as she threw her question in the air.

It had taken her a long time to process everything and as they inched closer to his room, it was beginning to dawn on her.

She was apprehensive of the nurse's response but a part of her also needed to make sure that she wasn't just going to walk in on a similar version of the Brandon she had looked at for so long.

"He can even answer you." The black woman reassured her, the same softness in her voice accompanied by an ounce of enthusiasm.

Throwing her arms around her as she walked, she turned to look at Ariel, watching her earnest face, taking in her features.

"It's…" She began, wobbly, her voice almost quavering. "It's incredible. After all this time." She finally added, breathlessly.

As they were about to round the corner, Ariel abruptly turned around, facing a Babu who had stopped in her tracks.

There was a reassuring sympathy in the nurse's body language, not an honeyed or pitiful one but rather, a protective and almost motherly one. She wanted to let her know that she had an ally in this, in her.

After all, she'd grown a certain fondness and appreciation for the woman she'd seen every day during her shifts.

"H—How am I going to tell him?" She swallowed hard, her eyes watering.

Her chest rose shakily while she attempted to control her breathing and then looked down, almost ashamed.

Head titled, Babu offered her a smile in understanding, acknowledging where she was coming from.

"For now, don't say anything." Her index finger moved around as she spoke.

Her tone was firm, wanting the redhead in front of her to listen to her carefully. "He needs to take it easy." She reminded her, lifting her head up high.

Ariel bit her lip, looking back at the nurse, her tongue going over her pearly-white teeth as she pondered for a moment, mouth nearly forming a straight line.

She did not want to lie to Brandon nor did she want to wait too long before letting him know what would be a huge part of his adjustment.

And, the longer she waited, the harder it would be and the bigger the shock. But she knew that Babu was right, it was still too soon.

Reluctantly, she agreed and let the woman in royal blue scrubs move her hand over her shoulder who then enveloped her arm around her, pulling her close.

"Come on, follow me." She whispered tenderly.

They soon resumed their walk, the teacher taking in the comfort of a welcoming pair of arms. How badly she wished that her mama could be with her right now. It was not something she wanted to deal with by herself.

Taking a deep breath, she looked straight towards the purple door that was within view.

Babu's hand had slid to her back in order to give her the little push she assumed she would need.

 _Number 218._

That was his new room, one that she was not familiar with and she thanked the Lord for that. Ariel paused for a second as they came face-to-face with the imposing door.

The nurse gently pushed her forward, her arm slowly falling back to her side as the redhead stepped closer to the doorknob. She was now standing millimeters away from the small see-through area.

Her heart raced and she wondered for a second if it wasn't going to pop out of her chest. She could hear her heart rate in her ears as if she had earphones in that was playing the sound of it beating.

She could not believe that the moment had finally come. She was going to reunite with the first man she'd ever loved.

As she looked down at the wooden doorknob, she quickly turned around as if seeking encouragement. Which was exactly what she got, for Babu nodded her in confirmation, flashing her a smile.

"Go." She told her, winkling briefly.

She was going to give them a couple of minutes to reunite before checking on the two of them and letting the doctor know that she had arrived.

They had been separated for twenty years of their lives, it was their moment and they deserved all the intimacy they could possibly get.

Doing as she was told, Ariel moved her hand over the doorknob without thinking twice, twisting it. The door opened as she held her breath, knowing now that there was no turning back.

She pushed the door until it was wide open and she could get inside, expecting an unsustainable silence but instead, the incessant yet reassuring beeping of his heart monitor was the one greeting her.

There was something oddly calming about this instant. The air was not heavy and her mind was finally letting her rest. Her eyes scanned the relatively spacious room, landing on a folder filled with documents on the nearby table.

Immediately, she was taken back to earlier that day when she still held the ignorance of the new chapter of her life that was about to unfold...

 _Ring. Ring._

 _Ariel sat on her couch, one leg tucked underneath her as the other one hung loosely in the air, slowly moving to the rhythm of the music that was on the radio._

 _A new single by Chris Young was playing and despite having heard it many times now, she simply could not get enough of it._

 _There was something about the song, the melody and the lyrics that just spoke to her. Glasses on the bridge of her nose and red marker in hand, she softly hummed under her breath, her eyes fixated on the avalanche of papers in her lap._

" _We're like fire and gasoline, I'm no good for you, you're no good for me. We only bring each other tears and sorrow." She heard herself sing along, a small smile gracing her lips._

" _Man, what a voice." The redhead thought out loud, referring to the young country singer._

 _His voice always sent shivers down her spine. In her mind, he was a little like the Alan Jackson of his generation; a true artist with an authentic sound and integrity, something that was beginning to get rarer and rarer._

 _She was correcting the exams for two of her classes and was quite satisfied with the overall results of her students but she had been working for over three hours without interruption and her attention span as well as her energy had simply began to reach a negative number._

 _She knew that a break was needed and clicked on her pen before setting it down on the coffee table and almost right after, the heavy pile of documents followed. Little did she know, a break was not on the day's schedule._

 _Throwing her head back as she stretched, she let out a groan as she moved her feet as an attempt to get rid of the cramps she now felt for having stayed in the same position too long._

" _Let me know when in the ding dong heck getting older starts havin' its perks." She scoffed to herself. "I can't even get senior discounts yet."_

 _Weekends were never synonym of tranquility for a passionate teacher and hard-worker such as herself. But she loved her job and her students and to her, it was a small price to pay to be able to do what she loved._

 _She knew she wouldn't want to trade positions with anybody. To the exception of - maybe - Dolly Parton._

 _As she stood up, straightening her clothes and slowly doing rotative motions with her head to get rid of any possible knocks in her back, she heard her stomach grumble._

 _She took it as a sign that it was time for a well-deserved snack and grinned at the mere thought of indulging in the chocolate fondant she had brought from her favorite bakery on her way home from work the day before._

 _She'd barely had time to take the cake out of the fridge and grab a plate when the melody of her home telephone filled the room. She sighed, setting the knife down._

" _I'll come back for you." She said with a chuckle to the appetizing food in front of her before hurrying back to the living room where she had been five minutes prio_ r.

" _Hart / Faulkner residence." Ariel announced into the handset._

" _Mrs. Hart? Dr. Craig speaking. From White Plains' hospital."_

 _Her face fell upon hearing the man's voice on the other hand of the line. She'd heard a similar speech twenty years ago and it had augured no good._

 _Her hand began to tremble and she found it difficult to keep the receiver to her ear. She nearly snorted in derision, feeling as though she was experiencing the same terrible and life-changing moment all over again._

" _Y—yes?" She asked, fear in her voice and a urge for him to go on. If she was going to endure the whole getting-bad-news-on-the-phone situation again, she wanted it to be over and quick._

" _I have some news." The doctor warned her. "You might want to sit down for this."_

" _Please, just—" The redhead pleaded, distressed._

" _Right, my apologies. I understand." His voice was soft as he interrupted her, himself trying to get over the shock of what had just happened._

 _"Your husband, Brandon... he's awake."_

 _Standing still as if frozen, the woman stopped blinking and for a second, no air came out of her lungs._

 _Upon getting no answer from her, the man continued._

" _It's a miracle. It's not impossible but it's the first time I've witnessed something like this in my entire career. He's a fighter, that man. And extremely lucky."_

 _Ariel had stopped listening to what he had said after he'd told her that Brandon had awoken._

 _The part of her that still believed in the possibility of it ever happening was overjoyed but the more pessimistic side of her was simply dumbfounded, trying to make sense of the new information, making her mixed with emotions that she was not yet externalizing._

 _If she had to be honest, she had no idea what the doctor had said next._

 _After a couple of seconds of not breathing, her chest rose and her lungs were in desperate need of air, resulting in her letting out a loud gasp as oxygen filled her body again._

The loud gasp from the recollection of the moment she'd found out about his state brought her from the daydream she'd had.

She was quickly aware that she was still standing by the entrance of the room, having completely zoned out, hand dropped by her side, gripping the thin strap of her handbag.

Brandon laying peacefully on the bed on the left side of her, out of his coma, was now her reality.

She could see him with her own eyes, it was all true.


	5. Chapter 5

He could smell the delicate scent of roses and lemon from his spot as his body numbly laid on top of the bed. He would have recognized it anywhere and the familiarity brought him a certain sense of peace.

He had closed his eyes, ironically tired from his twenty-years slumber and was battling not to fall asleep. It wasn't that he was scared of going back to sleep but he felt that he had been inactive in the real world for far too long.

Unfortunately, he knew that he had a long journey ahead of him before he could leave the bed he'd called home for nearly half of his life now. And it certainly didn't help that sleeping was the only occupation he had, if you didn't count the television he wasn't sure he'd know how to work.

As light sounds of heels clicking on the floor resonated in the nearly empty room, the smell, however, got closer and closer to him.

He could detect it even more and although it was stronger to him now, it was never overwhelming.

'She had always known how to apply the right amount', he thought.

He hadn't expected her to still wear this floral scent, after all these years. Hell, he wasn't even sure what he had expected, if he had to be honest. But he was happy to see that not everything had changed.

For an instant, he had forgotten that twenty years had passed; it was a dangerous game to trick himself into thinking that it was still 1991 but, to him, it very much felt like it was. He had not quite registered yet that reality would not be as easy or, rather, he had chosen to turn a blind eye.

He would need to get back into the world as though he was stepping outside for the first time, stepping into the great unknown. He already felt like a deer caught in the headlights; it was clear that nothing he had known would be the same anymore.

And, if there was one thing — or one person — that still remained, almost unchanged, as though time had frozen like trapped in a fairytale, he hoped that it'd be her.

A silence fell upon them as Ariel took an halt by the foot of the bed. She observed his relaxed figure, tucked into the white sheets and tilted her head, admiring him with an affectionate look upon her face.

She wondered if he could feel her presence and if she'd get the chance to talk to him or if he was going to remain asleep during the entirety of her visit.

Then, almost like he had read her mind, she watched him shift. His nose began to ever so slightly move, sniffing the air.

She immediately took it as as sign that he was waking up and with a newfound confidence in her step, she strolled to his right side, standing right above him.

At this very moment, his eyes fluttered open and a tender smile graced his lips. He was oh so happy to be able to smell her and to be greeted with the sight of her. It didn't take long for tension to build up in the room as he glanced in her direction.

There, for the first time in two decades, she was looking at him and he was looking back.

They held eye contact, never breaking it; for what seemed to be an eternity, both consumed with emotions. His breathing was heavy and she could distinctly hear him inhaling through his nose.

She was surprised that her heart wasn't racing, it was like it had simply stopped beating.

His smile had faded momentarily and if it hadn't been for the fact that she was delighted to see him, she'd have started second-guessing herself again. She'd have wondered if there was something that he was looking at that he was displeased with or worse: that he wasn't recognizing her.

But the light in his eyes indicated otherwise and as quickly as the smile had left, it came back followed by a heavy breath. His chest moved up and down to the rhythm of his exhalation and she couldn't help but let out a small gasp, a wide grin appearing on her face.

Nothing could possibly describe how she was feeling. But as she looked at him, she knew that nothing that she could have imagined, in her wildest dreams, could ever compare to the sensation she was being overtaken by.

"Hi." She murmured.

"H—Hey." Brandon feebly said in response, the joy in his voice still detectable, matching hers.

"Hey." She said again, out loud this time, as if doing so would take away the surreality of it all.

Before she knew it, she could no longer control herself. She removed her handbag from her shoulder, tossing it, not really caring where it landed behind her.

"Oh!" She exclaimed, her face radiating with happiness and her crystal blue eyes watering.

The redhead almost threw herself upon him, leaning forward to rest her hands on each side of his cheeks.

She closed her eyes. A tear escaped and came to crash on her rosy cheekbone while she kissed every inch of his skin. Her kisses were loud and hungry, savoring the contact that her lips made with his forehead, cheeks, nose and mouth.

Eventually, she stopped her assault by planting a gentle peck between the bottom of his nose and his upper lip. His beard felt rough and tickling against her much softer and sensitive skin but she didn't care. In fact, she adored it.

His mouth was parted open when she dropped her hands to his side while her left one came to hold one of his, entwining their fingers and, the free one found its place on his chest.

Her lower lip was sticking out, frown lines evident on her pale forehead when she took yet another long look at the man, scanning every part of him carefully so she could memorize the moment forever.

Soon, she closed her eyes, face buried in his chest, lashes brushing the soft material of his hospital gown as he looked down at her small frame, the bitter taste of guilt in the back of his throat.

Guilt for still putting her in this position, twenty years later, guilt for letting the tragedy that had led him here happen and above all, guilt for knowing that nothing he could do or say would make the heartache ease quicker, if ever at all.

He felt powerless in every sense of the term. He could not even hold her in his arms properly and his bandaged hand could hardly help him move his fingers.

Oh, how badly did he wish he could run his fingers through her red curls like he had done so many times in the past.

Her head tilted slightly as she let it rest sideway, just above his abdomen while silence continued to fill the room. She didn't talk and neither did he, neither of them feeling the need to say anything.

There was no awkwardness, just two people being comfortable with not saying a word. Sometimes they said it best when they said nothing at all.

Then, Ariel reopened her eyes, looking up at him from her spot. The eye contact was brief, barely there. He heard her sniffle and she buried her face in his chest again, as if to prevent tears from falling in hot streams or to wipe them away if they had already left her eyes. She did not want to cry but she couldn't help herself.

Straightening up, she removed herself from him, one hand flying to cover her mouth. Her nose touched her knuckle while the other slowly slid off his body. There, she nearly broke down, muffling the sound of a sob that threatened to break.

Before he had time to process anything else, she abruptly turned around. She did so in such a way that it made him question what her next move would be. Was she going to run away? Was it because she didn't want to cry in front of him? Or was she getting sick?

He watched her as she bent, hurriedly retrieving her handbag and he could have almost sworn that she was going to leave. But, much to his surprise, she rummaged through it and took a hold of something in a flash.

She tossed it again, the weight of the bag and its content hitting the floor, sounding louder in the quiet room.

She moved to face him again, holding a black leather wallet.

"Look!" The redhead told him in a whisper, fingers sliding inside a pocket to take out a small photograph.

She then proceeded to put the wallet down onto the bed and turned the photograph to the other side so that he could take a look at it.

He continued to look at her before lowering his eyes to observe and focus on what she was showing him. In the picture, stood a young woman in what seemed - at first glance - to be a graduation gown, a diploma in hand that she proudly held in the air.

Her smile was so bright, so full of life and communicative that a big grin didn't take long to be plastered on his face. She had long light brown hair with homogeneous highlights, making some strands almost look blonde.

She was beautiful.

Ariel began to cry and she didn't stop it this time, a throaty sound escaping her parted mouth, nose reddening from the tears. He was her battlefield, he was her symphony; both combined leading to her emotions being all over the place.

Brandon glanced up at the crying redhead and then back down at the photograph in front of him.

"Is it... it's our daughter." He whispered weakly, in a half interrogative tone, half statement.

"It's Juliet." Ariel nodded with a bright watery smile.

She was so proud of that sweet girl, of everything she had accomplished in her young life and everything that she stood for. If only he could have been there to witness it with her.

"She's 22 now."

Looking at her picture more intently, it looked as though she was wearing a familiar ring. His wedding band to be exact, the one that they had needed to take off when he had been admitted to this very place. If that was the case, he was glad to see that he had been with her indirectly and he couldn't have wished for a better person to get the circular band.

"Whe—where is she?" He asked with misty eyes, his bottom lip moving slightly upward, almost like a pout.

His heart felt full as he continued to look at his daughter, now thinking that the black gown she was wearing looked a lot like a court dress due to the frilly white collar.

Ariel shook her head, her now bare lips quivering. She then let out a small giggle at how difficult it was for her to properly function at this moment. She heard him chuckle briefly too before she responded to his question.

"In Europe." She informed him. "She just left for six months."

She was uncertain if she was supposed to let him know about it or if talking about Juliet was even recommended but she couldn't rob him of knowing what she was up to and she assumed that built-up anticipation would not be doing him any good.

Sure, he was supposed to be taking it easy but knowing that their daughter was okay would make him feel better, she knew him.

"But I'm going to call her, okay? I'll tell her to come home." The redhead told him, back to speaking in a low tone, only audible to him.

He shook his head for a moment, a look of despair over his features. He looked up at the ceiling, still moving his head from one side to the other. She watched him aguishly, setting the photograph down over his stomach.

Her hand quickly flew to the crook of his neck, setting it there as she felt the warm contact of his skin against hers. Her thumb traced along his jawline before sliding further down and stroking him just below the chin.

She stooped to his level, no longer towering over him, her eyes searching his, confusion written in them. He continued to shake his head in what seemed to be circular motions and respired.

"Come closer." He demanded and she obliged right away.

Her hand traveled down to his side, her perfectly manicured dark purple — almost black — nails forming a contrast against his white and blue dotted gown. She bent down until she was kneeling beside his hospital bed, mostly inclined on her tippy-toes.

Her movement had led her perfume to propagate around him and he could smell the intense scent that had filled his senses when she had entered the room. It made him smile in the process of gathering his thoughts.

"I don't want…" He began, his voice coming as a husky murmur, his breathing as harsh and erratic as her own, caressing her face like a small breeze.

He suppressed a cough before continuing. "I don't want her to see me like this."

He was trying to explain it to her with the best of his ability. "She can't cancel her trip at my expense."

Ariel was about to speak but before any sound could come out, he silenced her by applying a faint pressure on her hand that was the closest to him.

"Don't make her put her life on hold for me, o—okay? I want her to enjoy her trip." He pursued, some words emerging coherently, without interruptions but others were more difficult for him to articulate or took longer to come out.

She had no choice but to nod, understandably. She was sorry that Brandon felt that way but she acknowledged that if she had been in his position, she would have requested the same thing and would not have wanted to be a burden on Juliet's shoulders.

Not that he was, but she recognized that, to him, it was like he was screwing up her life by getting in the way of such a big project. She was leaving for six months, it was a long time.

Besides, he knew that he was not going to get released anytime soon and that he would still be waiting for her by the time she came back, the way she probably had done for him her entire life. He wanted to be the one waiting this time, not the other way around.

Of course, he did not want their lives to be an endless waiting game but what more would it change if she canceled everything for him?

He would be too weak to talk to her, he would not be able to walk and process the moment. She'd only be looking at a barely more improved version of him. That was not the way things were supposed to go. Even if they had never exactly gone according to plan.

He was going to meet her for what would, technically, be the first time. She was only one year old when he had last seen her. She had been too little for her to possibly remember him. And he wanted to be be in a better condition so that he could remember what would be, he was certain, a very emotional moment.

If the redhead had told her about him, which he assumed she had, she would know everything about him but he knew nothing about her. She was a stranger to him, much like he was to himself. He had so much to discover and he wasn't sure if he was looking forward to it or apprehended it.

She scrunched up her nose, a frown reappearing on her forehead as well as thin lines around her mouth as she cried again, her throat suddenly feeling very dry. She tried to gulp before she chose to rest her head against his forearm. A strand of her hair fell against it and he could feel the softness of her vibrant red curls.

She knew she looked nothing but presentable, her face was red and blotchy, matching the color of her hair. Her eyes were bloodshot and her eyelids felt heavy and puffy. None of which were attractive.

Through the blur of motion and color, however, she didn't care. She finally hissed a breath through clenched teeth, head shooting back up when she heard him speak at once.

"It's... just not for now."

Ariel agreed, looking back at him. "Okay." She acquiescing tenderly.

"Give me some time, alright?"

She nodded her head once more, her lower face moving forward as if she was trying to process what he was telling her.

"Yes, of course. Take all the time you need."

Removing her hand from his, she allowed the back of her fingers to brush against his beard, like a butterfly, moving back and forth in a regular rhythm.

The worried look she once worn was replaced by a loving one and her heart felt like it had been sewed back together, the more she looked at the man in front of her.

"I have so much to tell you." She pouted, placing her chin on his side.

A couple of seconds passed, quietness taking place in the room whist two souls tried to reconnect, longing for the other with the hope of catching up with lost time.

Shortly after, the ex-FBI agent requested a glass of water, wanting to be able to communicate with the woman before him without struggling.

The redhead hastened to complete the task and stood back up, righting herself as she reached for the pitcher Babu had gotten him earlier on. She poured a generous amount into the cup but made sure not to fill it completely as to avoid spillover. She then went to stand back next to him, helping him prop up on the pillow and held the cup for him, directing it to his lips.

Ariel watched him take a sip and continued to hold it until a good half was empty. She offered him a smile and waited for his signal that he was done and once she got it, she placed the water back down where she had gotten it.

In the process of doing so, Brandon who was now able to look at her from a different perspective, for he was no longer lying flatly onto the mattress, contemplated her with the utmost attention.

"You haven't changed." He remarked.

He still had difficulty to speak but it seemed that the more he did, the easier he could express words and he took it as a sign that he needed to pursue his efforts.

"And you're wearing your hair up."

"You've always liked when I wore my hair like this." She reminisced, her mouth quirking up at the corners.

His memory was still intact and that was an extremely good thing. With every apprehension she'd had she'd neglected to remember — or rather chosen not to — that pieces of his memory could have been damaged and could have not been accessible to him as soon as he'd woken up.

But that was not the case and she felt a wave of relief rush through her, appeasing her and calming her mind that begged for a minute of serenity.

Her body swayed as she moved back towards him. His eyes remained on her in captivation, the blush creeping on her cheeks not going unnoticed.

If his memory was still unexampled, hers was visibly leaning in a different league. She had gone through the unthinkable, experienced and felt so much through the years that certain things required some reminders.

An immense part of him had stayed with her all along, untouched by the cruel dust of the clock, like an old book abandoned somewhere in a room of the house not many ventured into. But the same way that a simple blow could bring the book back to its former glory, letting the dustiness become a distant memory, some pages could have not been as fortunate or survived the traces of time, torn by the negligence of its owner or on the contrary, read and carried excessively.

Words could have faded away with age, absorbed by the paper, pigments could have deteriorated and made it impossible for the reader to fully access what had once been so beautifully written. With a bit of luck and imagination, the human mind could have forged its own understanding, even guessed the words that were no more, perhaps and without knowing, changing the course of the story or bettering it.

In any case, the pages would never be the same, their authenticity would have been damaged and it would never go back to its old self.

Her mind was a lot like that, too much for her liking. She'd had ups and downs in her life, moments of pure happiness and others she'd be best to put behind. But with new memories came the danger of forgetting the older ones, of having the years alter reality and it was the furthest thing she desired.

Ariel didn't want to forget about him, let alone remember incorrect details about him. Between the dreams she had, her wishes and the past, her brain often tricked her and she had desperately needed him on numerous occasions to reprimand her if she was wrong and help her remember what had truly happened for it was always easier in pairs.

Much to her despair, she never had that chance and only had the choice to rely on what her brain would let her recover, regardless of its accuracy.

The way he stared at her, reading her happened to be one of the things she'd consigned from oblivion. She assumed that it was due to the fact that he could no longer look back at her when he was in his coma, to the point where his closed eyelids had become what she was the most used to.

She could look at him, her eyes retaining the sight of him but she no longer knew what it felt like to be looked at by him.

Maybe that was what was throwing her off at this very moment, making her heart flutter, overwhelming her with feelings she thought she'd never get to experience again.

Pushing a strand of her hair behind her ear, she questioned herself. Had she worn her hair the way he preferred it with the intention of making him happy? She didn't think so. She had done so almost out of reflex but had she unconsciously done it, hoping that it'd ignite something in him?

After all, up until she had came face-to-face with him, the fears that he'd no longer find her attractive were eating at her and as futile as that was, the hairstyle could've been her way of fixing the problem. She wasn't really sure but she could testify to one thing with assurance: he still made her feel the way he always had.

With one simple look, he could put all her doubts to rest, transforming her into a much more confident woman, instilling into her the sensation that she was the sexiest woman around.

It was crazy to her that twenty years later, in his hospital bed, mind fogged like a gloomy autumn day, he was still dotted with this capacity.

"You're beautiful." Brandon simply stated.

Exhaling, she waved her hand around, as if to indicate that he was speaking nonsense.

"I've aged." She pointed out.

"So have I." He let out a weakened laugh, gesturing to his face.

His own appearance had changed, he had noticed it right away when he'd looked in the mirror. But did it take away his handsomeness? To the best of his recollection, age was never an indicator of anyone's beauty.

Taking every minute as they came, he tried to make light of the situation. Being positive was his only option. He was never one to indulge in self-pity and he'd witnessed countless of people in his career go down this path and not once had it led anywhere but to an even more miserable existence.

The past twenty years were behind him and if he couldn't wrap his head around the fact that he wasn't the young man he had once known anymore, he would never move on.

He knew, however, that things were different for Ariel but ultimately, they were both in the same situation. They were older and with that came its share of pros and cons.

"I have wrinkles now." The redhead explained him with a shrug of her shoulders, wanting to elaborate as to what she meant.

It wasn't that she felt the necessity to but something about the look on his face made her want to get into more details.

There was a pause, giving them just enough time to take in a deep breath.

"I hope it means you have smiled a lot."

As words rolled off his tongue, he inclined his head, wanting her to get back to her initial position, that was beside him, down to his level.

He couldn't properly move his fingers and he felt that in order to fully immerse in a conversation with her, they needed to be in greater proximity.

Ariel looked around, her eyes landing on a chair in the corner that she immediately walked towards and pulled all the way to the bed. She would be more comfortable now. Like they were discussing, they weren't the youngest anymore and she could only kneel for so long.

"Double those smiles for all the times you couldn't smile with me." She finally replied, enveloping his hand with her own.

"My wrinkles and I… we have had a complicated relationship." She confessed.

"I find them… fascinating." Brandon argued, looking deeply into her eyes.

Almost instantly, her reflex was to look away. For what he swore was the hundredth time since she'd walked in, he cursed his position, desperately wishing he could get rid of his bandage and the machine he was tied to.

Had his hands be freed, he'd have gladly traced the tip of his fingers along her skin.

"Don't be silly."

"No, I'm serious." He began.

He still spoke in this slow pace but she could tell he was slowly (but surely) developing a certain ease when it came to communicating, even though the back of his throat still burned like Hell.

Not that he would ever tell her that for he predicted that she'd urge him to quit talking and leave the room to let him rest.

"I think they're a great map of your life. All the laughs you've had, all the the things you've gone through. Makes me want to get better so I can discover 'em."

Suddenly, it appeared that a light had been switched on and transmitted its rays into her eyes. They were bright and full of life. A life he had been deprived of and was already eager to get back.

Dropping one of her hands to her side, she progressively brought his close to her temples, letting him brush the corner of her eyes with his ring finger. Had she read his mind?

The contact of her smooth skin against his rough and dry one was staggering. Once, he had known her body better than his own and it was like discovering it all over again with the same intimacy.

"For every time you couldn't sit by my side and be proud of our little girl." She whispered, looking down at the photograph of their daughter on her first day in court that had fallen to his side.

She had one rule she refused to break and it consisted in not letting herself cry again. She'd been unable to stop the tears earlier but this time, talking about such a hard topic, she feared that if they strained her cheek, they'd never stop.

"I was proud."

"But… you didn't know, you weren't there."

"She's our daughter. I was— _am_ proud no matter what." He insisted. "I'm proud of you, too."

Her eyelids slowly closed while she planted a tender kiss on his wrist, nuzzling his hand. She cuddled it for a moment, a smile drawn on her face.

"I know you did a good job with whatever you had to do."

Although he knew that it would change, right now, he couldn't wait to find out what her life had been like as he was sleeping.

The mystery attracted him as much as it paralyzed him. There were things he wouldn't like, he was certain but how could they possibly surpass all the positive ones?

"I sure hope so."

The echo of their breathing was the only sound as silence yet again took over. They rhythm created during the time that the two filled their lungs with air only accentuated the sentiment of peace that surrounded them.

"This is you worrying about how you're going to provide for JuJu." The brown-haired man gently tapped his finger on her skin.

"This is watching the years fly by without any sign of improvement." He added, his arm going ever so delicately down her face as he spoke and discovered.

"This is my coma." Pursued the man with a frown.

"And these are the millions of great days you had that got you through those tough times." The frown disappeared as fast as it had came, replaced by a wide grin. Or at least, the biggest one he could form.

Listening to him, Ariel was given the impression that she had gotten her best friend, her partner-in-crime back. She felt bare and exposed under his touch, burning away like a candle.

 _'Till death do us part'_ , she recalled. And he hadn't died. He was very much alive, his hand presently cupping her cheek.

"Oh, Bran." She swallowed, at loss of words.

"Did you really come to visit me everyday?"

The woman nodded.

Her heart twitched directly after, guilt spreading through her. It wasn't a lie but it wasn't the complete and utter truth either. She had come to see him every day for the longest time but her visits had decreased in the past couple of years, for the sake of her mental health and for other various factors.

Could she tell him that? Almost like history was repeating itself again, she came to the same realization she'd come across in the past of how terrible it was to love someone that death could touch.

 _And boy did it hurt._

"Penny for your thoughts?" His voice interrupted her mind from going overdrive.

"Wait! Let me guess." He stopped her, hand sitting back down the length of his body.

"You're daydreaming about what's underneath this ugly hospital gown, I know it." He teased her, hoping to get a reaction from her. He wasn't too fond of the look on her face when she'd zone out like that.

"You dirty—" Ariel snapped out of her trance, facing him again. "Oh my gosh." Suppressing a laugh, she shook her head, not believing what she had heard.

If anything, it was good to see that even in his state, he was true to the man she had always known, never missing out on an opportunity to make a salacious joke.

"Moron." She quickly added in a pretend huff, lightly pinching his knee.

 _Bzz Bzz._

Her cell phone startled the two of them as it vibrated in her handbag that remained on the floor.

Why did it feel like she had been caught doing something she shouldn't have?

Turning in the direction of the singing device, indicating that she had received a text message, the screen came to her view. She squinted a little, attempting to see who was reaching out for her. She gulped when she read the contact name.

A single 'B' was written on top of the dark blue notification bubble.

Naturally, it didn't stand for 'Brandon' but for a certain _Barrett Faulkner_.


	6. Chapter 6

Brandon sat in the middle of a fairly dark room, a midnight blue neck brace around his neck. Long tables encircled him where was assembled a dozen of doctors and researchers, all chatting with one another.

He remained silent, eyes staring off into space while his hands gripped his wheelchair. He had managed to zone out of the conversations as well as the noises surrounding him and now waited patiently for the session to end so that he could be escorted back to his room.

It had been two weeks now since he'd woken up and he'd gotten more visits from doctors and specialists than he'd ever had in his lifetime.

With each passing minute, his tiredness of the situation joined up in a constellation of frustration and despair. He knew that it was unfortunately only the commencement of a long series of tests and appointments and although he had no way of escaping them, he was — to say the least —, not looking forward to any of them.

He very much felt like a zoo animal that people came to observe, took pictures of and looked at with both fear and fascination. Like them, he had been taken from his family and carried a weighing sadness for being far away from home.

"You see, the scanner confirms the apparition of the neuronal connection." A woman facing him stated matter-of-factly to her colleagues beside her, finger pointing to an x-ray in front of them on the desk.

They had detached it from the white light board behind them. There, were hung at least twenty photographies of different parts of his bodies.

Only he knew better, he'd have thought that some of them belonged to another patient. And maybe there were, as a way to compare his progress to the average John Doe. Regardless, he hadn't had this many taken of him before and wasn't sure what he was supposed to feel when they had shown them to him.

For one, he didn't really know how to decipher them and all the medical jargon was further from being his area of expertise. How could he deal with the informations he was being given, when the only thing that mattered to him was getting out of here? Leaving this place would mean he could finally put this nightmare right where it belonged: in the past.

"Indeed, they compensated for the liaisons caused by the bullet."

It was the turn of a man to speak, who seemed to be in his late fifties. He leaned forward, gesturing to an area with his pen.

"It's happened before." He pursued.

On his right, two more professionals were having another discussion. They were all extremely focused, like they were trying to resolve a puzzle.

"20 years of coma, several wounds and a cardiac arrest." Brandon heard someone say.

"Do you have any memories? Flashes? or even sounds?" Someone asked him and very progressively, he lifted his head, looking up.

The chatter grew louder and it didn't take long for him to feel overwhelmed, his heart racing and his head feeling as though it was going to explode. The environment, the state of mind in which he was in stressed him to no end and even though the white-coat wearing people in the room were only doing their jobs, wanting to find explanations and trying to make sense of the results they had gotten, he wasn't certain if they realized what it was like for him.

Without being conscious of it, they were putting a certain pressure on him, asking too many questions he didn't really have the time to properly consider.

Shaking his head the best he could, he didn't answer them. All the lights that had been scattered around the room for the purpose of reading the x-rays were beginning to make him nauseous.

As Babu stood in the background, hands in her pockets and riveted solely on him, she sensed his aggravation. They'd grown close in the past two weeks and she had witnessed first row everything he'd been through since then. Her heart could only swell at the mere thought of how much strength it required to be able to endure all that.

He swallowed and despite the pain that he chose to ignore, he moved his head to vacantly gaze at the ceiling where he thought he could finally disappear into his own bubble. That was her cue to come to his rescue.

"We'll leave them to talk, okay?" She quietly said to him, having snuck behind him, ready to wheel him out.

"Thanks, Babu." The brown-haired man smiled, gratefulness detectable in his voice.

Once they had left the room, relief took over him. He was done for the day and as far as he knew, he wouldn't be bothered until it was time for him to eat dinner. His head almost touching his shoulder, he vowed to appreciate silence more from now on.

And he did just that as they traversed the white halls of the hospital. The quietness helped ease his headache and suddenly, he told himself that he would have venerated the nurse had he been able to.

Continuing their journey back to his room, they passed by a young man struggling to walk with his crutches but something about him caught Brandon's eye. His eyebrows went up in surprise.

"France won the World Cup?" He asked her after reading what was written on the fellow patient's red shirt.

"Oh, yes. In '98. They beat Brazil with three goals scored. Imagine that! It was awesome." She insisted on the last word, grinning from ear to ear.

She had family there and was undeniably very proud.

"No way!" He responded and received a nod from the woman behind him.

His hand that rested on his leg slapped his knee to highlight his shock.

"Damnit. It happens once every thousand year and I'm over there sleeping like an idiot."

The black woman couldn't help but chortle at Brandon's words. It was heartwarming to see that he was taking it so well and was back to being in a cheerful mood. It was what she loved most about him, he was always trying to look at the bright side of things, to think and react positively.

As a reward, she made a mental note to remember to show him the video of this historical moment on YouTube when her shift would take an end.

As they approached the corridor that led to his room where two doctors were conversing, a large overweight man rounded the corner, carrying a brown leather bag.

In the process, he nearly bumped into one of the medical practitioner after they'd parted way. He instantly came to a stop, his bag that he still held nearly flying in the air before hitting him in the thigh from the momentum.

"Good grief!" The familiar man said as soon as his eyes landed on his friend in the wheelchair.

Brandon, on the other hand, smiled brightly at him. He seemed uncomfortable with the way he was sitting, the neck brace getting in the way and his arm now positioned on the armrest. His hand that had once been bandaged still hurt every now and then and his thumb was laying on the side against his palm, having gotten used to being like this overtime.

"You look well." Declared Brandon in a croaky voice.

He was still recognizable. The years hadn't been too bad on him though he looked a little older than he really was. His beard had more white than black now and he still wore the same unflattering jacket, that added two extra pounds to his already strong figure.

Conran blinked repeatedly, his face lightening up, radiating with happiness. His former partner was here, right in front of him.

"Holy shit, I can't believe it. Look who's back!" He set his bag aside, at the foot of the movable chair. He advanced towards him, holding his arms out.

He hadn't seen his friend in two decades; he was going to give him a hug, indeed. One of his hands went behind Brandon's back, not touching him just yet, while the other was close to his torso.

"Slow it down." The ex-FBI agent warned him with a chuckle.

His body was recovering and was currently like a house of cards, damageable and that needed to be touched carefully. He couldn't quite get a bone-crushing hug without fearing to be crippled with soreness.

Following the instructions, Conran did as he was told. Babu watched the scene unfold in front of her, amused by the two men. The visitor was like a giant bear, it was hard to imagine him being anything remotely close to gentle.

"Give me a kiss." With a tilt of his head, exposing his cheek to the older man, Brandon laughed.

"It's unbelievable." He slowly leaned in, his laughter echoing in unison as he planted a kiss on his friend's fuller beard. It was a pleasure to see him again, after all this time.

Soon, Conran pulled away and straightened up, wanting to take another good look at the man in the wheelchair. They exchanged a look of complicity and he realized that his visit had to mean a lot to him.

Aside from Ariel, his mother and his daughter, he didn't assume that he had gotten many visitors since the big news broke.

* * *

The two friends had spent the past 10 minutes talking in the hospital hall. Conran was sitting on one of the beige leather chairs, his bag not leaving his right side while Brandon remained in his wheelchair, facing him.

The room was deserted to the exception of one nurse who was putting a dollar bill into the vending machine in the corner. It allowed them to not only get the privacy they wanted but also the possibility to have a serene conversation.

"I still can't wrap my head around it, Conran." Brandon confessed with a sigh.

"I'm in the parking lot, running after this one guy. And just like that, in one go... nothing." He stared off into space again, not even looking at the man he was talking to.

Eventually, he decided to look up and his eyes met the brown ones of his old colleague.

"I wake up 20 years later. For me, it happened in a fraction of a second, you know?"

There was a small pause and the only audible sound in the room was the one of his breathing.

"Like a snap of a finger. How do you live with that?" Gulping, his voice broke mid-sentence and his eyes rapidly filled with tears.

Conran looked at him, speechless. He knew that nothing he could say to his friend could ever take away the pain and for a moment, he tried to think of something to say. His own eyes began to water when he dared to finally utter a few words.

"I don't know…" He said, honestly.

Had he been in his shoes, he wouldn't have been able to take the news as well as he had.

Of course, he was aware that the chances of Brandon making things look easier than they were, were extremely high and that deep down, he could be falling apart. He wouldn't have blamed him, if it was the case.

He heard an indistinct noise in the background and directly glanced around as if to find its provenance before looking down at his rough fingers, endowed with small nicks and scars.

In this position, his double-chin was even more visible but suddenly, his head shot back up in the brown-haired man's direction.

"You don't remember _anything_?" He insisted.

Brandon didn't waste time to ever-so-slightly shake his head.

"No.." His answer came in just above a whisper.

With a pensive look upon his face, he spaced out again, signs of age on his pale forehead. His naturally tanned complexion had faded after spending so many years of his life in the same room, shielded from the sun.

"During the arrest, we split up. I heard shooting. I came a couple of seconds too late. I blipped off the guy who shot you. Just some _fucking_ seconds too late." His anger rose as he kicked the air, recalling the terrible moment.

Now, Conran had Brandon's utmost intention. His eyes were on him, begging for him to look back.

"You're not responsible."

The older man sniffled. His face had reddened from the tears that had welled up in his eyes and were starting to descend down his cheeks. He made a movement of disagreement with his head, forcing Brandon to repeat what he had said.

"Stop it, Con. It's not your fault."

There was something comforting in the way he spoke, a certain warmth that instantaneously appeased him and made him consider dropping the subject.

After all, what was done was done and dwelling on _what could have been_ 's would not help in the process of moving forward.

"By the way!" Conran quipped, diverting the topic to another. There was a tear underneath his eyes as he spoke.

"I talked to the administration, they validated your early retirement." He smiled.

"Retirement?!" The Texan's eyes grew big.

The calming look that had once graced his features was no more. Aggravation gained control, he was not at all pleased by what he had heard.

"I just woke up and you want to put me out to grass?! Are you out of your fucking mind?"

"Bran…"

"No way, no. I'm a FBI agent, you understand?" He hissed through his teeth.

"I'm going to get my life back. All of it." He whispered the last part, all the while keeping his firm tone.

"He's crazy... completely crazy!" The other man looked from one side to the other in pure disbelief. He spoke to himself in a high-pitched tone as a derisory chuckle soon followed.

"This, I can assure you, has not changed." Laughed Brandon who was now looking around him, making sure that they were still alone.

The nurse had gotten her coffee a little while ago and was nowhere to be found.

When he deemed it safe to speak again, he asked, "do you have any cigarettes on you?"

"Uh, yeah... why?"

"Take me smoking. You're the Big Boss now, come on! Don't be a party pooper."

"It's no longer allowed to smoke in public spaces, buddy. Since 2003."

"I don't care, take me smoking." There was a light childish singing in his intonation.

When he felt that his former partner was about to give in, a huge grin appeared and spread on his face. He had won this round.

"Go, go, go!"

Not knowing how to say no to him, Conran rolled his eyes in defeat before letting out a loud sigh, as if to show that he wasn't pleased with the idea whatsoever.

He got up and moved his hand on the handle of the wheelchair, bending over a little in order to unlock it so that they could go ahead with using it.

"Do you know how to drive this thing?" The patient asked in amusement.

He received no response from his friend who turned him around with dexterity.

"Hey, not too fast! Or I'm gonna throw up."

"Idiot." And with that, they were out of the room, heading outside.

* * *

Months had passed and re-education sessions had become his day-to-day. After being asleep for twenty years, not moving, he had to learn how to move his arms and walk properly again. He had woken up but some of his body parts had yet to follow in this direction.

Every twenty-four hours brought new challenges and were different than the last. There were times when he'd be proud of himself and felt like he was making progress and others, where he had began to seriously doubt he'd ever walk again.

He tried to remain optimistic and on several occasions even needed to remember that Rome wasn't built in one day and that patience was the key to any successful recovery. He couldn't help but snicker at the idea. He had been more than patient until now and he had already wasted so much time, all he wanted now was to not lose any more.

Every day that he spent in the hospital was a step closer to getting out but also, in his sense, another failure. He'd spent nearly as much of his life here as he had outside and that was troubling him to a point he couldn't quite express.

He was tired of the wheelchair, of needing someone to get around, of not being able to be independent and always needing to rely on somebody. He didn't know how much longer he could handle needing permissions for anything he wanted to undertake, or even seeing some of the friends he'd made in the hospital over time leave before him.

The only thing that comforted him was knowing that he'd get to see Juliet soon. She was coming back from her European trip the coming month and if he pursued his efforts, he'd — hopefully — be in a better shape for their big reunion.

Conran and Ariel had come back a couple of times but he had made it clear to them that visiting him every day was not obligatory.

In fact, he had almost asked them not to return until he'd be allowed to leave. It wasn't that he didn't want to see them, far from it. But he still had his pride and didn't want them to see _him_ like this any more than they already had.

It was his fight and his burden, he wasn't going to bring his pain onto others. He had made up his mind and deemed that it was better that way.

Naturally, the two had respected his wishes and only checked on him occasionally, to make sure that he was still doing okay and holding up emotionally.

Brandon couldn't wait to surprise them on the date of his release and show a bettered version of him. Death hadn't defeated him and he was going to take control over his life but for that, he couldn't afford to have two of the main people from his past remind him of what he had once been like.

If he couldn't go back to the way he had been before, at least physically, he needed to make his peace with the eventuality before affronting the long-ago.

The beginning of his journey had been spent trying to get on his feet, getting up from the wheelchair and maintaining a mobility, first with the help of the nurses and then by himself.

Once that had been achieved, they had put him on a large device he'd never seen before in his life. It looked a lot like a modern walker and served the same purpose.

The only difference was that it had wheels and he was to stand on the wooden platform. It was also quite high and stopped at his navel. He could rest his arms on the the matching wooden-like surface which helped keep his spine straight and allowed him to have a better posture. They'd walked around the hospital rooms so many times with that thing that he had long lost count.

As soon as he had been able to stand for a relatively long period of time, they'd began the second part of the program. The ex-FBI agent was assisted by Babu and a much older and larger looking woman. She was equally as nice and he had taken an immediate liking to her.

His first attempt at walking had been difficult and unsuccessful, to say the least. It was expected and none of the medical crew had been alarmed but that had been a major blow to his self-esteem.

He remembered standing between the two long red barres. His hands were on each of them and he'd barely moved his foot that he had lost his balance, just like that. He was leaning on his arms and using their strength to lightly lift his body off the ground.

As a result, his body weight was unevenly distributed especially with one of his foot lying flatly against the floor, while the joints of his other foot touched it, sole facing the back of the room.

Within a second, his hands slipped off and he found himself on the black mattress that they had put for this purpose, knees bent and in slight pain from the fall. He groaned and remained on his side, in a fetal position for the minutes that followed. His wrist hurt from retaining all his weight when he'd fallen straight on it but fortunately, the pain left a couple of days later.

But with time, he was gradually able to start walking, taking a huge weight off his shoulders. His condition was already demanding him a lot of willpower but if he'd found out that he'd not be able to get back on his feet again, he wasn't sure if he'd have been able to accept it.

That moment was the turnaround he needed and gave him the courage to carry on. He took his time at first, taking a minute before putting a leg in front of the other but as more days and weeks passed, he found a certain ease in doing so and even no longer needed to hold anything for support.

On the second month, he was allowed to go to the gym and his training began. Between the arm press, the bike and the leg press, none of the extremities of his body were forgotten.

The nurse that accompanied Babu monitored his reflexes and made him sit on a large and comfortable seat. She instructed him to move his legs off it and into the air, ensuring that everything was going smoothing. His progress was evident and everyone was overjoyed but most importantly: he felt proud of himself.

Then, the exercises switched and he began to use different machines. One of them held his arms out, working on every muscle whereas the seat stopped just under his mid-thighs so that the rest of his legs were in space, straightened in front of him. It stretched him and he had to remain in this position for a while. Every now and then, he'd manage to stay longer than necessary, other times, he gave up before the expected time.

Every session ended with a Thai massage that consisted in slapping his back with the side of the hands. It took him a while before he began understanding the benefits of this technique but that was the only activity that was truly relaxing to him and he welcomed it every time.

More bike and cardio exercises were added overtime, some of them were monitored so he'd find himself struggling with cables and patches over his torso as he tried not to get his legs caught when he moved them, not wanting to accidentally rip one of them off.

For the third month, he was asked to go back to the barres and had to walk again, using them. Later, when he felt comfortable, he could let them go and stand on the mattress underneath without any help. It was tiring, sometimes even really painful and hard to bear but he refused to take his attention away from his goal.

Weights and barbells soon came into play, helping him regain some muscle strength in his arms and upper chest. His biceps were slowly getting back to the way they had once been and to him, that was a step in getting his old life back. Brandon had ruined so many of his shirts from how much he'd sweated during the workouts. But his efforts were finally rewarding him.

When he wasn't using the machines, he'd be found hanging off anything that he could lift himself from, legs forming an x. He wanted to sweat off the fat he'd gained over the years and to work on his abs.

Occasionally, it was an even better workout session for his legs, especially when he'd try to bring them to his stomach without anything to push them or bring them there.

Every time he'd do these exercises, he was alone in the room and could grunt as much as he wanted without bothering anybody. His shirt would stick to his body from the sweat and sometimes, he was thankful Ariel wasn't there to see him or he knew he'd have repulsed her.

The fourth month came and ended in a flash and, as he had been assiduous with everything he had been asked to do, he was now able to walk properly. He'd been assigned more exercises that required the use of his legs and gladly did them, promising to never take his health or his body for granted. Skipping rope was the new activity and he'd do it every other day, keeping his heart rate healthy and challenging every inch of him.

He had entered a winning mindset, he was there to beat what life had thrown at him and that was part of the reason why he'd trained like a beast.

But on one particular day during the first week of the fifth month, Brandon felt ready to leave. He was doing well, had recovered and was doing exercises without supervision, like he'd have done at home. He didn't consider it necessary for him to stay at the hospital anymore.

When he'd ended his skipping rope session, shirt dripping, he took a deep satisfied breath. The end was near, he was in the home straight.

He'd been told that if his results continued to be this positive, they'd have to release him maybe even sooner than they had anticipated and to him, the moment had arrived, it was there.

Bringing both handles together and playing with the rode, he made his way towards the door. When he reached it, he threw the skipping rode on the wheelchair and pressed on a button that opened the doors and led to the white corridors. He turned around, chest rising up and down from the activity and gave a long look at the gymnastics room. He clenched his jaw and swore he'd never come back here again.

It would be the last time he stood there, in this very place.

* * *

Brandon was staring at the ground, hands laced in front of him and the brown leather bag that Ariel had thoughtfully asked Conran to bring him occupying the seat next to him. On top of it laid Juliet's old fluffy blanket that had not once left his side, even after he'd woken up.

He was waiting, which seemed to be the only thing he ever did, wanting to get the green light that he could finally leave.

Five months ago, he had discussed in this exact same room with his former partner and just like it had been then, the area was empty. It was late, visiting hours were over and there seemed to be no sign of life except for his.

But then, he heard footsteps approaching yet didn't look up. He was getting a bad feeling and he wasn't liking it one bit. Babu neared him in her royal blue scrubs and took an halt once she was standing right next to him.

"Is that it?" He asked, now looking up at her.

There was a brief silence and he quickly spoke again.

"Babu, please tell me this is it." He begged as his legs came to touch the other and his body stiffened.

The look on his face would've melted the coldest of hearts, making him look like a lost puppy. He searched her eyes for answers, despair in his own ones and tears beginning to form.

"The doctors still want to see you for two or three weeks for additional tests." She explained in a soft voice, her hand resting on the back of his black leather jacket.

She sat down beside him, hating to break this news to him. She knew how eager he was to be leaving and she had just shattered his hopes. Why did she have to be the one doing that? Why couldn't one of her colleagues have told him?

She felt like the bad guy but knew that Brandon wasn't going to hold her responsible. She was only obeying the doctor's orders.

Groaning, Brandon's head hastily went down and he moved his hand over his eyes, rubbing them. Babu continued to move her hand up and down his back in a comforting pattern and gave him an instant to process the fact that he was going to be staying longer. How was he not supposed to go insane?

"See you tomorrow." With a pat on his back, she pushed herself off the seat and gave the man beside her one last look.

He nodded. "Thanks."

As the nurse was about to exit the room, the brown-haired man called out, moving in his seat and rotating his body in her direction.

"Babu!"

She turned around, hand going behind her back and raised an eyebrow, encouraging him to go on with what he had to tell her.

"Is there any old newspapers here that I could read?" He asked.

The look she gave him quickly made him understand that she was surprised by his question and was wondering why he wanted them.

Taking it as a sign to elaborate, he added. "If I'm going to spend three more fuc—," he stopped mid-sentence, almost cussing.

"If I'm going to spend three more weeks here, I may as well inform myself and catch up on what has happened in the world, right?" He corrected himself with a small smile.

"I'll see what I can do." She winked at him.

* * *

Laying in bed with a pile of newspapers and books around him, Brandon kept busy. He was immersed in his reading, completely fascinated and stupefied by what he was learning.

Thousands of things could happen in one week and here, he had 20 years worth of news to educate himself on. How did all these things happen while he was asleep? It was simply surreal to him.

In a way, he had made his peace with staying here a little longer. He needed to be ready to be confronted back to the real world and that didn't just include a stable physical and mental health but he also needed to prepare for all the discoveries he'd make.

And, knowing a minimum would only be beneficial. Mostly so that he wouldn't act like an alien around people who had been there to witness all the big events he was discovering about.

He hadn't thought it possible for him to one day relate to movies where one of the character is sent back to a different era and yet, here he was.

Licking his lips, his eyes scanned every word that came to view, absorbing all the informations that were being given to him.

 _'The Nobel Peace Prize In Oslo For Nelson Mandela', 'Lady Diana Is Dead', 'Days Of Terror In America As Hijacked Jets Destroy Twin Towers', 'Heart Attack Kills Beloved Crooner Frank Sinatra', 'New Orleans In Grave Peril With Hurricane Katrina'..._

 _'Clinton Impeached', 'A Right For All: Same Sex Marriage Made Legal In Several States', 'Obama Sweeps To History Victory', 'Stock Market Collapses: Economic Crisis!', 'Facebook, The New Place To Be', 'Germany Elects First Female Chancellor,' 'Healthcare Reform', 'The Euro: Europe's New Currency'._

After hours of reading, Brandon felt a little more in-touch with reality. Evidently, there was so much more he didn't know about yet but he no longer had the sensation that he was living in parallel universe.

One thing he had learned that evening was that a lot of emblematic figures had died, terrorism had grown and kept growing and a lot of natural disasters had occurred.

His mind wandered back to what he had read, particularly regarding the tornado that had descended upon Oklahoma, one of the deadliest in history and his heart sank at the mere thought of all the lives that had been lost. But above all that, he pondered whether Ariel's family had been affected.

Sighing, he closed his eyes. What if she had lost some of her loved ones? Hadn't his coma been enough? She would have needed him and he wouldn't have been able to be there for her.

He knew that it was a path he'd be best not to venture into, especially at this time of the day. It would only send him into a distressed state.

It was late and he decided to let sleep take over before his mind forced him to spend a restless night. But as he pushed the newspapers and magazines away and finally found a comfortable position, Ariel's voice echoed in his head.

His eyes shot back up immediately. He had heard it so vividly, it had given him the impression that she was in the room with him. It was only his imagination but the vivacity of his semi-daydream dismayed him.

The man shook his head and reached for the light button beside him, ready to press it. He glanced at the two photographs on the nightstand, the one of Juliet that Ariel had ended up giving him when she'd visited for the first time and one of them that they had taken on that same day just before she had left. Her arm was around him, head brushing against his, smiles plastered on their faces.

He realized at this moment that he had come a long way since the photograph had been taken. He was unrecognizable in a good way, no longer the weakened man she had laid eyes on and he'd gotten his energy back. He couldn't wait for her to see him now and extremely looked forward to her reaction.

Eventually, his finger clicked on the button and the room was instantly plunged into dark. Exhaustion promptly washed over, the twists and turns of the day finally taking their toll on him. He fell asleep with the redhead's voice resonating in his mind.

" _I have so much to tell you."_


	7. Chapter 7

Flurries of autumn leaves drifted down past the empty streets of New York, swaying back and forth in the brisk winds as a flickering light haloed the side of the road, its small sliver of golden ray pouring in through the small gap of the window, right across Brandon's face as he watched with curious eyes thousands of buildings pass him by. A line of red tail lights backed all the way to the end of the avenue, early morning people driving to their work locations.

In the midst of the polluted air, the cold breeze of the crack of dawn felt nice against his face while the evening lights melting through the end of the night continued to illuminate the scenery. The smell of dark coffee filled the yellow cab with its delicious aroma, making him realize just how badly he craved one.

Detaching his attention from the architecture displayed in front of him, he pulled at his white hospital bracelet that hung tightly to his wrist. He struggled for a brief instant but was soon able to rip it off, looking at the item in his hand where his name and room number had been written.

It marked the end of a chapter that he was thrilled to put behind, although, a part of him couldn't help but feel an arriving minor wave of nostalgia. He'd miss the lovely medical crew that had taken care of him all these years, especially Babu.

And, for it was the only place he'd known since he had woken up, the familiarity and habits he had developed there gave him the reassurance that the unknown he was stepping into didn't.

The taxi driver glanced at him through the rear-view mirror as they neared the famous Brooklyn Bridge before pressing on a button on his phone, the GPS still running and giving him the directions he had asked for.

"How's it going?" He spoke with a smile, one hand holding the steering wheel, the other one gripped the plastic coffee cup, ensuring that it was still warm enough to drink.

He wore large square glasses and a faux fur trapper hat. He seemed to be one of the very few, eager to welcome winter. Overall, he was a funny looking man.

"I'm good, thanks." Brandon replied, appreciative of the small talk he thought the driver was attempting to make.

The man gave, with a raised eyebrow, another look through the rear-view mirror. He didn't retort and focused back on the road, lowering the volume of the radio.

"What did you do today?"

"I was at the hospital but now, I'm going to see my wife." A little taken aback by his question, he responded sincerely, no longer looking through the window.

"At the airport?" The hat-wearing guy asked as if he already knew the answer and moved his head in a small nod.

Brandon's eyes moved around in confusion.

"No, I told you. The Hampton's. That's where we're headed."

Clicking his tongue, the man took a deep ragged breath.

"One second, honey." He said and quickly proceeded to remove the hat off his head, setting it aside.

Then, he turned around to look at Brandon.

"Excuse me but I'm kind of talking to my wife, here." He pointed at the bluetooth piece in his ear, lightly tapping it with his index finger.

He focused back on the road, setting the gearshift to a lower range. Silence spread through the automobile as the brown-haired man stared at the back of the driver's head, dumbfounded. What kind of sorcery was that?

"To— to your wife?" His question came in an amused and intrigued tone, thinking for a second that the man was messing with him.

"Yes, to my wife." He acquiesced with a crack of a smile.

Conversing with her must have put him in a good mood as most people would have gotten frustrated and wouldn't have taken the time to reply.

His wife, as a matter of fact, was currently on a seminary in another country and they had finally managed to find an hour in the day that worked for both timezones. The day had only began where he was but for her, it was already time to go to sleep.

Brandon let out a sneer. Decidedly, he wasn't at the end of his surprises. He leaned forward and gestured to the device with his hand.

"Your wife is in there?"

To say that he was amazed was an understatement. He had never seen anything like this in his life. How could he be talking to someone else with an earpiece? And without any cable? How had he dialed the number? It was only a reminder that he still had a lot to learn.

But, if he had not wanted to look like an extraterrestrial that had just marched on Earth, the plan had certainly been thrown out of the window.

If anything, he was making himself look like one of those older people that genuinely had no knowledge whatsoever when it came to technology or keeping up with the times.

"Yeah, yeah. She's in there." Replied the chauffeur, inclining his head in his direction momentarily.

Brandon mumbled incorrectly as they took a turn. The man hadn't actually enquired about him, he was simply talking to someone else. Well, that was embarrassing.

"Oh, right. I'm sorry." He finally said with a wave of his hand.

The other man in the front seat ignored him this time and all his attention went back to his wife on the other end of the line.

"Hey, babe. What were you saying?"

He lifted his free arm to adjust the volume of the radio, setting it on a higher volume to occupy his passenger who was now looking back out the window. He remained fascinated by the beauty of the views that were offered to him, searching for familiarity.

The city held the same _je ne sais quoi_ that it always had but a lot of it had changed. More modern buildings had been built and he could hardly recognize any of the restaurants or shops they were driving past.

Nevertheless, New York was in-temporal, it would always remain and feel unaltered, no matter how many changes the city would encounter or the amount of years and decades that went by. It would never stop being his second home, the place that had welcomed him and his family with wide-open arms.

It was only a couple of minutes later when the car came to an abrupt stop, only a few feet from the light that had just turned green.

Brandon was brought out of his reverie by the aggressive sound of the wheels screeching and the driver honking at a woman who had crossed the street without looking around the environment that surrounded her.

She held her hand up in front of the windshield, a little too late, perhaps, as if doing so would protect her from the potential shock. She uttered something in a high-pitched tone and looked back ahead of her, keeping a firm grip on her handbag.

Her washed-out white trench coat hung loosely on her body as she trotted to the other side of the pavement, clearing a path in-between the stopped cars while the taxi driver opened the window to yell a profanity at her.

"Come back here, you!" A bald man growled between clenched teeth, walking briskly behind her.

His hands were in his pockets and he appeared to be chasing after her. If his agitation was any indication to his frame of mind, he was not pleased by the goings-on.

The ex-FBI agent had turned on his side, watching the commotion attentively through the opposed window. Everybody else had gone back to attending their own business except for him. The automobilist was grumbling under his breath, a little panicked by how close he had been to hitting somebody with his car so early in the day.

The blonde woman looked disoriented and something about her continued to grip his attention. He knew the look on her face all too well, he had seen many of them throughout his career. She was distressed and something in his gut told him that she needed help.

His suspicions were immediately proven right when he heard a yelp escape from the other side of the street.

As it turned out, the woman was trying to free herself from the imposing man in-all black clothing. Was he trying to steal her bag? Were they married or lovers in a tumultuous relationship? Did they even know one another?

Pushing the man away from her, she grunted. Her handbag flew to hit him in the torso and there, he took a firm grip of her arm, almost crushing it.

When she stood shakily in front of him, helpless, the man swung his fist into her stomach, hitting her with all his strength. He let go of her and at this point, all she could do was bend over, crossing her arms in front of her before eventually collapsing onto the ground, in excruciating pain.

Despite the bright lights on his side of the road, the corner in which the couple was arguing was far more obscure, making it harder to discern the events that could potentially occur.

Thankfully, not one fraction of second had gone unnoticed by the brown-haired man who hastened to open the car door without hesitation. He stepped out and closed the door behind him under the gaze of the skeptical chauffeur who was not appreciating what he was witnessing.

"Sir! Hey!" He called out, turning around in his seat and extended his arm.

Upon receiving no answer from his passenger, he too opened his door, letting one of his foot touch the ground.

"You have to pay!" He interjected, moving his upper body further outside of the vehicle.

His eyes hadn't left Brandon who was still not deigning to say a word to him, too focused on the tortured woman. When something was on his mind, it was a difficult task to get him to concentrate on something else.

The light turned green and before anything else could happen, all the other drivers began honking at the driver for blocking traffic and making it impossible for them to go on with their day. They insisted, impatient and a cacophony soon disturbed the thoroughfare.

"Enough, goddammit! Enough! I'm moving." He yelled, making big gestures with his arms, conceding to the blending shrilling sounds.

However, that was not without mumbling another profanity under his breath when he got back into his car, slamming the door shut. Not only had he lost his time, had been disrupted from talking to his wife but he had not gotten the money he should've earned. Today was starting off on a wrong note for him.

As he pressed his foot on the accelerator pedal, Brandon, on the other hand, was running towards the man and woman that had moved deeper down the end of the street.

The blonde had managed to get back on her feet and was struggling to keep her balance while the man held her hair in his hand, staring at her with fury in his eyes.

"Stop with your fucking lies!" He warned her. "What's your problem, huh?"

His face had gotten red with rage, too caught up in his dispute to notice the bearded man approaching them.

"Hey! Hey!" Brandon exclaimed.

"What's your problem?" The baldheaded repeated, punching the woman right across the face.

She let out a scream and the force led to another expected fall. This time, she laid unresponsive by his feet, coat revealing her pale shoulder and the spaghetti strap of her top.

"What the fuck are you doing? Where do you think you are?" Brandon asked, anger taking over him.

He was now walking, only a few meters from the stranger. His left hand held the leather bag that Conran and Ariel had gotten him.

"That's none of your business. Do you want the same too?" Pointing his finger at him, the guy fired back, threatening to give him the equal treatment than the one he had given to the poor lady.

"Get lost." He added and turned on his heel to give his attention back to the woman he'd just beaten.

Brandon's voice interrupted him as he held his index finger of his free hand. "Actually, I do want that, too."

"What?" The man turned around, confused by the conversation.

With a hand gesture, he spoke again, in a way that made him look like he belonged in the streets.

"I'll have what she had." He gave the person facing him an insincere smile, mocking his attitude.

"Yo, catch that!" He laughed and stepped forward, throwing his bag right in the bald man's arms.

The latter caught the bag and remained still, having not yet registered what was happening. In this position, his face was revealed to Brandon and he could plainly see the wrinkles on his forehead, indicating that he was well over fifty and there was something in his features that made him think that he was perhaps Russian or Ukrainian.

Before he had time to do anything else, Brandon launched at him and jumped, knocking him over the head. The guy almost twisted in the air before crashing miserably on the ground, in the fetal position near the unconscious female. He covered his eyes with his hand, grunting and wincing in pain.

Taking advantage of his weakness, he bent down over to the woman's side, gently wrapping his arms around her. He pushed her scarf away from her neck to ensure that it wasn't constricting her throat. Afterwards, he brushed the hair away from her face, stroking a couple of golden locks back.

Looking at her at this very moment, as a father and husband, he couldn't help but let his mind wander to his wife and daughter. He didn't know the stranger lying in his arms but she was making him think of the women in his life and how much he'd appreciate that somebody went to their rescue if something like this ever happened to them. Which he prayed with all his being that it wouldn't.

For all he knew, she could have been somebody's mother, sister and she was after all, somebody's daughter. How could he have watched this horrible scene unfold and not jumped to her aid?

"Miss, can you hear me?" He asked, resting his hand on her leg.

Just then, the bandit glared at him and the siren of a police car resounded in the darkness of the early morning. His eyes widened as he continued to grunt.

And, when he caught the sight of the vehicle venturing down the street, he got back on his feet with difficulty, fleeing the scene with his hand covering his nose before the policemen stopped by the pavement.

He was long gone by the time the doors opened in synchronization.

"I'm taking you to the hospital." Brandon whispered to the lady, his hand sliding under her thigh to get a firmer grip so that he could elevate her.

Unfortunately, he'd barely had time to gather his strength and straightened up that three armed men rushed in his direction. They pointed their guns to his back, looking satisfied to have caught a culprit in the act.

Someone had alerted them and as they had been on patrol in the neighborhood, they'd arrived as fast as they could. Brandon had simply been in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

"Police! Hands on your head!" They shouted. One of the men's voice even broke mid-sentence from how loud he had spoken.

He froze, his blood rushing to his head. He carefully unwrapped one of his arms from around the blonde's body, progressively lifting one hand into the air, cooperating with the order he was being given. He could sense the guns aiming directly at his back.

"Put your hands on your head!" One of the trio repeated.

"Alright, alright!" The brown-haired man yelled back.

Slowly, he situated the female back down, not wanting her to hit the floor once more. His hand that had been in the air, came to delicately lay on her side.

Her eyes opened as blood dripped down her nose directly over her Cupid's Bow and she watched Brandon with both fear and gratefulness. She let out an inaudible breath, her eyes rolling in her head and her head falling back.

"Don't worry, you're in good hands now. Somebody will take care of you." He reassured her, removing his other arm from underneath her and raising both hands to place them on the back of his head, as demanded.

His wedding band that he'd gotten back from Juliet sparkled from the street light reverberating right upon it.

He'd barely had the time to think that two of the policemen approached him, one of them resting their gun directly against his leather jacket while his colleagues harshly brought his arms behind his back, handcuffing him. They'd expected him to wrestle but were pleasantly surprised when all he did was comply.

"Get up!" They told him.

"Take care of her, goddamnit!" The ex-FBI agent instructed with a movement of his head, not at all pleased by the carelessness the trio were exhibiting.

There was a victim lying on the ground and their main preoccupation was to give their attention to him?

"Go on, do something!"

* * *

Using his leather jacket as a blanket to keep himself warm as he napped, Brandon laid with one leg bent on the uncomfortable bench in the cold cell. He'd spent all of his morning and the beginning of his afternoon there, at the police station and boredom had began to catch up on him, tiring him out.

Right on top of him, on a built-in shelf laid a large pile of documents that the man sitting at the opposite end of the seat he shared wouldn't stop staring at. The individual was bizarre, sitting against the wall, facing him as he played with his fingernails, a hood over his head and swaddled into a large dirty Moncler.

When he'd first entered the confined room, Brandon had entertained himself by attempting to guess what was the reason behind his cell companion's arrest.

Solely based on his looks, he'd assumed that it had something to do with having being caught possessing something he shouldn't have.

The sound of the door being unlocked came to interrupt the weighting silence as an Asian woman wearing an uniform glissaded aside to make way for a much taller young man. She juggled with her keys before squeezing them into her hand and waited patiently.

"Brandon Hart?" The young man called, standing by the entrance of the cell.

He wore a dark blue cardigan on top of a lighter blue top and his general attitude suggested that he was a confident and friendly man who had little experience in the field.

Startled after he'd heard his name, Brandon jumped up and quickly sat up, pushing his jacket off his body using his forearms. He rubbed his eyes, grogginess in his voice.

Then, he turned his body to face the person that had just spoken to him all the while wiping his mouth to verify that there hadn't been any drooling incident in the past hour.

"Yes?"

"Detective Nolan Davenport. Captain Falcon has asked me to get you out of here." He explained with a faint rictus.

"That's very nice of him." Brandon snickered with his atypical sense of humor.

The rays of sunshine coming through the small window cast a shadow over his face. Taking a deep breath, he turned to look at the man in the down jacket that still hadn't moved, almost frozen like a statue.

"Good luck." He told him, taking a hold of his own piece of clothing.

He then got up and pulled at his shirt, holding the hem of the sleeve to facilitate putting on the jacket. There was nothing he hated more than having his shirt rolling up underneath his coat. He walked out of the cell under the supervision of the young detective.

"You don't happen to have a cigarette, by any chance?" The brown-haired man requested as he adjusted the collar of the jacket he'd just put on.

"Smoking is forbidden here, sir." Nolan was dumbstruck by the cheekiness of his question. He shook his head as the two of them advanced further into the corridor.

"Okay. At least I'd have tried." He chuckled. "Is Conran here?"

"No, Captain Falcon is at a meeting with the mayor." He informed him, rounding a corner that justly displayed a cigarette ban logo.

A policeman exited a room and followed behind them for a minute before turning to another direction.

Brandon contented to nod in response, zipping his attire. "Have you found the guy who assaulted the woman?"

The detective's eyebrows went up as he tilted his head. "Ah, according to her... _you_ 're the one who assaulted her. Which she didn't fail to mention when she pressed charges."

Hearing that, Brandon couldn't help but come to a stop. He remained on his spot while the younger man carried on with his walk.

"You're kidding, right?" He questioned, his eyes darkened in shock, feeling as though the sky had fallen upon him.

"Me? Not, really. But I do make jokes and you'd look be laughing a lot more if I had just made one." The law enforcer scoffed, pivoting to look at the confused man behind him.

"And", he began with his finger held up in the air, "as per her deposition... _you_ were the only one there."

A couple of police officers dressed as civilians moved around the room they were standing in, some were discussing with one another whereas others were looking at computer screens or rummaging through large and heavy binders.

Not caring about standing in the way, the middle-aged man continued to stare ahead of him with an astonished look upon his face. His features highlighted his growing indignation.

"But... she's lying!" His answer came in a much softer and calmer note than he had expected. He gestured with his hand and hurried to walk up towards the detective.

"Re-interrogate her!" Brandon declared with a frown. They arrived inside another fuller room and beside the desk Nolan occupied.

"That won't be necessary. We'll manage from here." The other brown-haired man retorted. "Should we take you back to the hospital?"

"Hell no! I'd rather die." Shaking his head vigorously, he shuddered at the thought. He would make sure to never set a foot back in that place.

"Are we good now? Can... can I go?" He asked, hopeful, pointing behind him with his thumb.

"Yeah, sure." Nolan smiled. "William?" He called out over his shoulder to a man whose back was facing them as he leaned on a desk, conversing with one of his colleagues.

"Can you return the gentleman's personal effects, please?"

The law enforcer turned around after hearing his name and acquiesed just as a fellow man strongly held and pushed somebody towards the interrogation room.

They were howling about their innocence but received no acknowledgment in response. At this time of day and year, the station was swarmed with all sort of interesting individuals.

Brandon followed after William, ruffling his hair and stretching. His back was hurting from sleeping on such a hard surface and he couldn't wait to get some fresh air.

Things had taken a turn he hadn't quite expected and getting locked up so soon after leaving the hospital hadn't exactly been part of his plans. Was he ever going to be able to go in and out of a place on his own accord?

Once the two left the room, Nolan moved to the other corner of the room and towards his partner.

"Gabs?" There seemed to be something troubling him.

"Yeah?" She said with a smile, looking up from her desk.

When she saw the look on his face, however, concern promptly took over. She righted herself up, pulling at her flannel button down shirt.

"Regarding Victoria Reyes…" He initiated as he rounded her and came to an halt on her right.

"This morning's assault?"

"Yes. Go pay her a visit." He told her, glancing down at her desk momentarily.

"Claim it's an ordinary procedure. Then ask her _exactly_ what happened." Insisting on the last few words, he held his thumb in between his index finger, gently moving it up and down.

"Why? Is there a problem?" Gabrielle asked in skepticism, eyeing the door where Brandon had walked out.

There was a pause. He looked at her and moved his mouth from side to side. Next, he exhaled.

"I don't know yet."

* * *

The motel wasn't situated in the greatest neighborhood. In fact, it was an area of the city that he wouldn't recommend to visitors that looked to be taking in some scenery.

But much like any big city, New York wasn't simply filled with picture-worthy corners and the least dangerous boroughs were very expensive. Too expensive for a man who'd just woken up from a coma after twenty years of inactivity.

He had always known the Big Apple for being a touristic destination but he had witnessed as he looked for a place to accommodate him until he'd get back on his feet that tourism had tripled in the past twenty years. As sad as it was, he thought of it as a good thing.

After the attacks in 2001, he'd have assumed that people would have been a little reticent at the idea of traveling there but terrorists hadn't won and it had given travelers another reason to visit the city: to pay their respects to the souls that had lost their lives on that terrible day.

He'd walked into several hotels, some of them were booked, others were too pricey for him. And just as he had been ready to give up, he'd found this one.

It looked old, insalubrious and he'd needed to take a double take to make sure that he had read it right when he'd seen the hotel sign on top of the door. Were people really paying money to sleep there? He'd gotten his answer almost right away. They were and he was about to become one of them.

Much like a book, the motel was best not to be judged by its cover. Sure, time had tumbled down the façade of the building and hygiene seemed questionable but dared he admit that it looked cosy? And it was right beside a kebab restaurant. He wouldn't need to go very far if he wanted to eat something.

As he followed the aging gentleman and owner of the building, he discovered that he had made the right choice. Not only was the price more than reasonable but that way, he wouldn't need to crash at Conran's or be a burden on anyone's shoulders. It was the last thing he wanted and he was glad that this option was finally out the window.

"Eh, I'm sorry." The old man said, fumbling with the key in his hand.

His age was perceptible in his voice and he sounded as old as he looked. His clothing made him look as though he hadn't quite transitioned to the past five decades.

"It's not... it's not very modern." He proceeded as they finally reached the last room down the hall.

"Uh-huh." Brandon agreed, stopping behind him.

"And it's the only one left." Remarked the owner, turning to look at him as he bent down to reach the lock, his back stiff, transporting a big hunch.

At that, the younger man could only laugh.

"You know, when it comes to modernity, I'm not very selective."

"Christ almighty!" The octogenarian grumbled to himself, not succeeding with opening the door as the key he held in his trembling hands refused to get inside.

"I think it's the other way around."

Brandon moved forward and reached for the key in his hand. He turned it upside down and twisted it. Immediately, the door opened.

"Ah, thanks." The motel owner gently patted his arm as a way to thank him and they both entered the room.

The outdated light floral wallpaper hadn't been touched since it had first been put up. To the exception of having being cleaned now and again. The rest of the room was similar, the furniture was old and none of them matched the other.

There were a lot of shelves, even a minuscule kitchen area and the bed looked like it belonged to someone's grandparents from the late seventies. But it was large and the mattress appeared to be comfortable.

For someone who'd been born in the past twenty years, it'd have been like walking inside the set of a period movie. But to him, it looked like something he had always known.

There was an obvious gap between him and the life as people lived it now, he'd witnessed the inadequacy when he'd been amazed by the tools they used or the way they acted. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was running in parallel to everything. It proved that he had underestimated how laborious his transition and adaption would be.

Things had changed and they were going to require him to be careful if he wanted to stay out of trouble and avoid another bad episode like the one he'd lived just a couple of hours earlier.

"Wow, indeed." He let out, referring to his comment about it not being modern. His mouth hung open while his eyes scanned every detail of the apartment in front of him.

"Do you like it?" Urged the man before him, leaning against the door for support.

He struggled to keep his balance but rejected to use anything that could help him with that, affirming that it was something for old people and he didn't feel like one.

"Super!" Brandon grinned, striding further inside his new home.

"And if it's the last one, it's even better." He set his bag down on the chair, in the middle of the room.

"I'll see you soon." The retiree extended his hand for him to shake.

"Thank you kindly."

"Have a good stay, Mr. Hart."

* * *

Brandon shivered, pressing the cigarette to his chapped lips as the rich benignant smoke eddied coldly down his throat. His eyes were contaminated by a thrilling mix of fear and excitation.

The sweet toxins filled his lungs and he exhaled his stress in rings that breasted the air for a moment, in a cloud of white and grey fume. It swirled like a ballerina in the dull sky, devouring everything eagerly in its delicate path before fading into nothingness.

He'd always had a thing for danger and, having flirted with death, he acknowledged that breaking from this bad habit wouldn't be an easy feat.

As tendrils of the toxic substance swirled up in his lungs, some residual hung around him, shifting like the ghosts of his past in the autumn gust. It obscured his surroundings like a fog and he was quick to take another drag. The substance was a ribbon of death but yet, he felt the most alive.

He gazed, transfixed as the thin folds of the white tendrils of burning toxins ebbed away. There was something mysterious and exalting about the moment, the opening of a new chapter, led by the christening of his sin.

It brought a sweet rush to his body and he felt the sweet burning sensation curling throughout his throat, ripping its way to his head. But what was even paralyzing to him was the woman he was about to see, the delight in the depth of his abyss.

Ironically, he needed the strength the cigarette was giving him to come face to face with her again, after months of quietude between the pair.

He'd trimmed his beard for her — not shaved, she'd forbidden him to ever do such a thing, preferring him with some facial hair — for he wanted to make a good impression on her and to look presentable. He wasn't sure what to expect from their encounter nor if she'd appreciate him coming over unannounced.

He sat on a high wall, a river behind him. The movements of the water soothed his rapid heartbeat. She'd always wanted a place like this, facing a source of water. He was happy for her that she'd gotten her wish even if he regretted not being the one who'd made it come true.

He smiled to himself, imagining the joy she'd felt the day she'd found the house and purchased it.

Despite the location, there was something about it that reminded him of Oklahoma and her roots; it was was no wonder that she had fallen in love with it. From his outside perspective, he knew that the cottage-inspired house was a good match for her.

It was unclear to him how he wanted the conversation they'd have to play out. Of course, he wasn't hoping that she'd throw her arms around his neck, kiss him with abandon as she begged him to pick up where they had left off or... maybe that was his problem, he wished for her to do just that.

Yet, one thing was for certain: he needed to see where she lived for himself. He wouldn't be able to obtain a peace of mind without knowing once and for all.

In a way, being there was like getting a sneak peek into her life, of what kind of person life had shaped her into. It showed the things she liked and could possibly reveal more than some words could.

He was unapologetically curious to see what was the place the mother of his daughter had called home while he was sleeping. To him, it'd reveal if he had lost her, if she was still the Ariel he had once known.

As best as he could, he tried to prepare himself for the possible bitter blow he could receive. After all, it'd remind him that the present was different than his version of reality. It'd divulge a lot, maybe too much and he prayed with all his might that he was emotionally ready for that.

After his cigarette had become nothing but a tiny piece of white paper, he contemplated the tip before crashing it against the wall beside him.

Captured by an impetus of courage, he jumped back to his feet and crossed the empty street, reaching the gates of the beautiful property.

Standing in front of it, he was hesitant to push it open at first, but a voice inside of him never ceased to repeat that he hadn't gone this far to retrace his steps now.

He looked up at the window, hoping to see her from his spot but no one came to view. Before he knew it, he'd made his way inside her garden and towards the stairs that led to the main entrance. He spotted her car in the corner and knew that she was home. Unless it belonged to Juliet, he didn't really have any idea.

The sound of his boots hitting the last step filled his ears as he gulped. He'd made it. The moment had come. All he had to do now was ring the bell and she'd appear. He had been anticipating this instant for months, though it felt like he'd waited all his life for this it, _for her_.

His heart was ready to jump out of his chest and his eyes were on the edge of watering. He refused to be this nervous around the only woman he'd ever loved but everything was beyond his control.

Brandon peered through the window of the door only to deviate his head to the side, sighing and ready to take off running and jump in the first taxi he could find. But he owed it to himself to be courageous, he'd already shown his resilience countless times now, why would he stop now?

Almost like a deficient robot, he gradually lifted his arm until it was at the same level as the door bell. Soon, his finger applied a pressure on the button and the ringing punctured the air. He had done it.

Inhaling deeply, he dropped his hands to his side and took a step back, letting himself lean against the railing of her outside stairs. Contrary to what he had imagined, time did not freeze.

In reality, he would've sworn it had been fast-forwarded. The door swung open while panic rushed through his veins and the silhouette of a petite redhead was revealed.

He breathed loudly and awaited a reaction. Ariel, on the other hand, nearly jumped back at the unexpected sight of the familiar face that had come to her. Her eyebrows went up in surprise and she let out a muffled gasp.

"Bran!" She rasped out in a creaky voice.

Despite her attempt to cover it, he instantly noticed that she wasn't as euphoric about seeing him there as he'd have wanted her to be. He could sense her distress by just looking deep into her eyes.

"W—what are you doing here?" She asked him, her eyes still widened.

It seemed as though she was contracting her upper body, her collarbones more prominent than they usually were and her breathing was almost retrained.

"Did you get out of the hospital?"

It was more of a rhetorical question than anything else. Her clumsy way of asking him when he had been released.

Brandon nodded with a smile. "Yes, yesterday morning."

He was tempted to mention that he would have gladly visited her sooner but he doubted it'd have made a difference. And if he had to be honest, he didn't want her to know about the incident he'd had with the police.

There was a long silence. They looked at one another with such intensity that their eyes could have nearly pierced through one another.

"I... was just curious to see where you lived, that's all." He finally spoke.

Just as her mouth was about to curve, there was an agitation coming from behind her. They broke eye contact and both their hearts dropped to their feet.

"Honey? Who is it?" Enquired a man in his boxers, from the living room.


	8. Chapter 8

At the sound of the familiar voice erupting from behind her, Ariel froze, paralyzed. Time had suspended like a wound not mended. If it hadn't been for the small gap of her slightly parted lips, air would've stopped flowing to her lungs.

The timing couldn't have been more imperfect.

She hadn't wanted him to come upon, not like this. At this present time, she realized why she had felt so uncomfortable when she'd opened the door to find Brandon standing behind. She had known that it would happen and that having him, here, at her doorstep was similar to playing with a fire bigger than them.

"Do you want me to come down?" Insisted the man at the top of the stairs, inside of the beautiful home.

"No!" Her voice broke as she declared, panic-stricken.

She leaned backwards, as though she needed something to support her and inclined her head to the side so that Barrett could hear her better, talking through the space between her and the door.

"No, no, it's okay. I got it." She swallowed, managing to collect herself enough to form a proper sentence.

Her heart which seemed to have stopped beating began to pound furiously, like it had only now processed what was happening.

Meanwhile, Brandon watched her with a downcast look upon his face. He seemed abashed, resembling a puppy that had just made a mistake and sat with their tail between their legs. His world came crashing around him and he swore he'd never felt greater pain.

Why had God awoken him if he had to live a life in which the woman he loved belonged to someone else? For a second, he wished he'd never rose from his coma.

Diverting her eyes from his, Ariel looked down at her leather boots in shame. By definition, she'd done nothing wrong but the guilt she felt from deep within indicated otherwise. She had, in a way, given up on him.

"I'm... I'm so sorry." She murmured, still not looking up.

Brandon exhaled in response, not making eye contact either. What was there to say?

"I…" The redhead began timidly, after a couple of seconds.

Upon hearing her faint voice, he gathered the strength to look at her and nodded his head, encouraging her to go on.

"I tried to talk to you but uh... the doctors... they told me it was best to wait." She confessed with a trembling voice.

As he attempted to recover from the blow of the revelation, it dawned on him that she'd flown in shade of her promissive faith and had etched her story.

After all, because his had come to an abrupt stop didn't mean hers had to follow suit.

He'd once read somewhere that human beings were more often frightened than hurt and that they suffered more from imagination than from reality but the scenarios he'd made up in his mind didn't account to the amount of pain the reality of it all really was.

"I figured as much, Red."

He shrugged, his hands buried in his jeans pockets.

"I just wanted to make sure, nothing else." He offered her a sad smile.

He didn't want to make her resent herself for moving on, by any means. But he refused to pretend the news weren't devastating him.

Another silence followed and, when the tension could no longer be bearable, he took a step back.

"I'll see you soon, honey."

The pet name he'd called her came to him spontaneously and he didn't curse himself for calling her that. To him, she was still his wife and grieving the loss of their marriage was not on the list for the day.

He took a long last look at her before turning on his heel and descending the few steps he'd climbed before his heart had shattered.

"Stay!" She begged, reacting without letting herself time to think. She went to reach for his arm and he stopped in his tracks.

He remained still, back facing her at first, only to slowly turn around after acknowledging that he had no right to ignore her or to be angry at her.

"One day, maybe." He said, solemnly and then decided to wink at her as she hugged herself, not wanting their encounter to end on too much of an awkward note.

And with that, he started making his way back to her gate, walking — he thought — out of her life. There, he looked so lonely, enchained to bitter roots while Ariel watched him from her porch, feeling all of his sorrow.

There seemed to be no such a thing as a final glory for him and it had been wrong of him to drown his fears in his toxic dreams. He'd breathed through her memories, drinking his mind in moonlight brights, more often than not, forgetting that reality differed from the one he'd pictured.

She'd moved on and all he could do was accept it. He had to put himself into her shoes, after all. Would he have waited for her had it been the other way around?

Absolutely, just like she had but when the years would have passed and there would have been no sign of improvement on the horizon, leading uncertainty to persist, wouldn't he have considered turning the page too? Or rather, attempted to get on with his life, if not for his sake but for Juliet's?

It wasn't the life he'd wanted for them and if another man was making her happy, he would learn to be happy as well. Right?

Brandon had barely taken a few steps that he found himself taking a shaky breath, the tears in his eyes building up faster than the past twenty years had passed him by.

He wasn't one to cry often, much like Ariel, he'd always conceal his emotions and it had taken the two of them a long time before they'd dared to let the other person see past the mask but it had come naturally, on their own accord and they'd then become the only ones that they'd open to.

Yet, right now, she was the last person he wanted to see him cry. He condemned it completely.

The more he tried to hold the tears back, not wanting them to fall, the more it seemed that they were fighting to roll down his cheeks. They begged for release, blurring his vision, hurting him with their saltiness. He exhaled deeply, hoping to calm himself down and brought his hands to cover his face as he walked. He wiped his eyes and sniffled loudly, almost wishing he hadn't loved the woman this much.

Soon, he had left, abandoning Ariel to herself as she remained on the porch. She had seen none of his crying for his back had been turned to her but she'd noticed the slouch of his shoulders and that hadn't made the scene unfolding before her any less heartbreaking.

She rubbed her temple, holding one arm over her stomach as the other one rested over her forearm and wondered what would happen between them from then on.

She understood that he would try to keep his distance, that he would possibly refuse to see her for a while but could she live her life, knowing that Brandon was awake and yet, she could not see him or be with him?

The redhead looked up at the sky and muttered a prayer, begging higher forces to help her find peace and quieten the conflict in her heart. She then said a prayer for him, wishing him the best that life could offer. He'd earned it.

The chilliness of the end of the afternoon piercing through her dark blue sweater, hitting her skin, reminded her of where she was standing and she promptly returned inside, closing the door behind her.

She leaned down against it momentarily, preparing herself to affront her partner who'd more than likely question her regarding who had been behind the door and she sighed at the thought of having this conversation with him.

Her mind instantly replayed the scene that had just taken place and she began to feel a rush of distress overtake her. She was about to cry but Barrett's voice startled her, catching her mid-act.

"Ari?" He frowned. "What's wrong? You look upset."

The redhead shook her head no and quickly pulled at her sleeve, using it to clean her misty eyes.

"I'm fine." She told him firmly, plastering a smile on her face and straightened up, letting all traces of her agitation vanish.

The sandy-blonde man wasn't dupe, how could she imagine he'd buy that lie? Watching her attentively, he removed the towel from around his neck and sighed in desperation.

"Come on, don't lie to me."

"Go get dressed, dinner should be ready in a few minutes." She ignored him, changing the subject.

"We're having my famous praline and sweet potato casserole." She exhaled deeply and made her way towards him to pat his arm gently. "And _I'm_ having ice-cream for dessert."

" _You_ 're having ice-cream? Is that so? What about me?" He mocked her tone, emphasizing on the first word.

"There's not enough left for two, darlin'." Ariel said with a sly look, trying her best to show him that there was nothing for him to worry about and that she was, indeed, in a good mood.

"Didn't we go grocery shopping yesterday?"

She winked at him.

"Yes. Exactly."

* * *

A pack of cigarette laid in front of him on the wooden table as he stared at the lighter in his hands. He was sitting in the middle of his hotel room, back straightened and eyes riveted on the flame that shone in front of him.

His thumb kept sliding over the gas release button and he found great entertainment in watching it come and disappear. The sound the device was emitting as he removed the pressure his rough finger was putting on it allowed his mind to stay focused and not drift back to what had happened a couple of hours prior.

There was a time when their love used to shine as bright. And now, much like a consumed cigarette, it seemed to have diminished, making room for a bittersweet aftertaste.

It was similar to the first smoke of the day, right after sipping on a coffee and eating a bite of a freshly prepared toast. It was as good as it could get and all the other cigarettes that'd be smoked throughout the day would never feel as good as the very first one.

In a way, he compared himself and Ariel to that. Fire and gasoline, the most beautiful weapons of all.

Mixed together, they created the highest shower of sparks. But with that came the risk of burning yourself, that was the probability of holding something so powerful in your hands.

It beamed with all its glory and the warmth along with the welcoming feel it gave, but as soon as it was slowly approached, it snarled and bit. With a single nip, everything you loved could be gone in minutes.

That's why it was like fire, so warm, so hypnotizing. She was the human embodiment of fire and he'd turned his gaze for a minute and everything was gone.

Oh, but she had the hair to match, scorching and fiery red hair that seemed to burn to the touch. Orange sunset locks, capturing the light in vibrant ruby hues, flowing in a cascade of curls of lava to her shoulders. He realized for the first time that he was in love with a woman that he knew nothing about.

She wasn't the same Ariel he'd known. Bits and pieces remained but as life as he'd known it had changed, so had she. All the good times they'd had together had never felt this far away to him as they did now.

The twenty years that had elapsed were no longer just an abstract timeline, they not only were real but felt as much.

A knock on the door came to intrude on Brandon's mesmeric encounter with the flame. He heard the sound coming from outside and had yet to detract his eyes from what was transfixing him. He'd not even parted from his leather jacket when he'd gotten here and had stayed in this position ever since.

"Yes?" He acknowledged, nonetheless, absentmindedly.

His eyelids were almost dropping, strangely overtaken by a sensation of appeasement. He was tempted to close his eyes but the door flew open and that marked the end of his lonesome moment. A smile immediately crept on his lips when his visitor came to view. He was exactly what he needed to turn his day around.

"Good god, what a joyful place!" Conran's voice detonated with sarcasm into the late afternoon air, breaking the silence as he took a look around him.

The windows were closed and the curtains had been pulled back, giving a cold doleful atmosphere to the room. He was used to seeing lugubrious areas but that one almost took the cake.

He glanced towards the only source of light in the small confined place before advancing towards his friend who had stopped playing with his lighter and had shoved it back in his pocket.

"Only thing that's missing are the gallows." He added, jokingly.

To that, the ex-FBI agent could only snicker in derision. Perhaps he would need to look into putting some touches of color here and there before his mind matched the darkness of his new home.

"It's good to see you, Nino." He confessed sincerely.

He'd started using this nickname when Juliet had been baptized. It was a derivation from 'godfather' in Latin languages and it was something that was simple to pronounce and that he had known his little one would easily be able to call him.

They'd settled on it the minute they'd first heard it and since then, Brandon had enjoyed calling him that. He was still his daughter's godfather and he saw no point in denying it or changing it for the sole reason that things were a little dense as of now.

"Are you sure you don't want to come live with me?" Conran asked.

He looked at his friend with both affection and admiration. He'd never know how he was able to cope with all the obstacles that were being thrown at him.

"No, I told you. Thank you but I need to be independent, I can't keep relying on people. In the long run, it won't do me any good." Brandon shrugged.

The Captain was snowed under a lot of work and he still had taken the time to visit him. He'd barely have time for a social life, so much that shaving had become optional and he'd let himself go physically even more than the last time he'd seen him.

That was one of the downsides to having a position that required so much responsibilities.

"The offer's still here if you change your mind."

He nodded in response.

Now that his attention was no longer occupied, his thoughts were beginning to bother him again. One of them in particular and he didn't waste time to bring up a question that he was desperate to know the answer of.

"You knew about Ariel." He pointed out in a half statement, half interrogation. "Hmm?"

A sigh escaped Conran's lips, hidden beneath his beard.

"She asked me not to say anything."

He felt guilt to admit that he had kept this information from one of the best friends he'd ever had but Ariel was also part of his social circle, he had been there for her and he had always been able to count on her as well, whenever he needed to.

He couldn't have betrayed her and he deemed that she'd know best. The honorable thing to do, in his opinion, was to respect her wishes.

"She wanted to find the right time."

The brown-haired grimaced. He pondered what he had just been told and then turned to look at his friend and gave him a fake smile.

"It worked."

"She was scared, you know. She was comfortable in her life and... the news kind of shook things up for her." The bigger man retorted.

His last intention was to make him feel responsible for the distress the redhead was feeling or for him to feel like a burden but he wasn't certain if he realized how big of an adjustment that had been for everybody involved.

And, on top of that, Juliet still had to return from her trip.

The next question Brandon wanted to ask frightened him. He gulped while his heart began to beat more rapidly at the mere thought of uttering it out loud. He knew that he wouldn't like the answer, regardless of what it was but he also refused to live a life where people, especially himself, shielded him from the truth so that he could avoid getting hurt.

He needed it for his own good, as ironic as that sounded.

"How long have they been together?" He closed his hand into a fist, bracing himself for what would soon grace his ears.

Conran hesitated briefly.

"11 years."

He watched the younger man's reaction attentively, uncertain as to how he was going to take the news. Time seemed to have frozen and the silence was almost unbearable. He wanted to ask him to say something, to cry, to yell, anything but not keeping whatever feelings he had repressed.

"I haven't even spent that much time with her." Brandon eventually broke his silence with a grimace, sadness detectable in his voice and tired features.

 _Eleven years_. If anybody knew how fragile life was, it was him. And he was aware, more than anybody, how even the smallest fragment of a second could change your life forever.

If one simple second was enough to change the course of things, what could be said about one decade?

She'd spent over a decade with a man, getting to know him, letting him know her, building a new home, a family. They'd spent countless of times together, created more memories with one another than he could have dared to dream about and after all this time, he judged that their union had to be solid.

It was no wonder why she'd been so panicked at the idea of him being around her house. She had to have been scared that he'd ruin what they shared and wreak havoc.

To him, there seemed to be only one right option: going away. Keeping his distance would be doing her a favor and he made a mental note to leave her alone. The message was clear, she had no place for him in her life anymore and it wouldn't have surprised if her feelings for him were gone.

She'd always love him, that he was certain, the way you'd love someone who'd once mattered to you and who had been a huge part of your life. She'd always be thankful for him being the father of her daughter and for being her first love, for what they'd once shared was too damn good to forget.

She'd love him like you loved someone you had parted from in good terms. But would she still love him the way he loved her? Probably not.

"Listen, this isn't the only reason why I came."

Conran changed the subject with a sigh, just as Brandon ran a hand over his face.

He wasn't one to relish in melodramatic turns and things had already been disastrous enough, it wasn't the time to worsen them. He had an investigation to conduct and unfortunately, that came before his friend's love life, as insensitive as that was.

"I need you at the NYPD." He pursued.

At that, his friend could only furrow an eyebrow in astonishment. Had he heard him right?

"What for?" He asked, a moderate look of disdain upon his face.

During his episode at the police station, it had been made clear that his once important position in the hierarchy made no difference and would result in no special treatment and now, they wanted him?

"Victoria Reyes. The woman who was assaulted earlier."

"Uh-huh." He urged him to go on, reminiscing about the exchange he'd witnessed between the blonde woman and her _real_ aggressor.

"Has she withdrawn her complaint?"

"Ah! Not really, no." The captain was quick to answer. He paused before drawing a breath.

"My team found her at her place, two hours ago, with a bullet in her head."

Brandon's heart sank at the news, his features darkened and the lines on his forehead made an apparition once more. She was a young woman, who had the rest of her life ahead of her. It was such a tragedy. Something that he could relate to as he'd lost a good part of his youth too.

Ironically, he knew all too well that not many were as lucky as him and he was among the very few who were able to get another shot at life.

"Look, I'm sorry to hear that but how does this affect me?"

"It... just does."

"And what happens if I don't want to collaborate?" He questioned in a huff.

"You don't exactly have a choice. You discharged yourself against medical advice." Conran's lips pinched so tight, they formed a straight line.

"What is this exactly? Blackmail?" Brandon sneered, leaning forward, putting his weight on his forearm that rested on the table.

"No. It just means, I can't help you if you don't help me."

"Unbelievable!" Pushing himself off the table, the younger man shook his head in disbelief.

"What? You don't want to go back to the hospital, do you?"

* * *

Her eyes contemplated the empty crystal glasses placed right in front of her on the wooden table. The cloth that covered it was of a darkened green, though bits of it still held its yesteryear brightness; proof that it had been washed one too many times over the years.

It was her Mama's favorite, who had been gifted it by her own Mama. Something they passed on in the family, on the women's side, if you will.

Her mother, Helen McKinney, often found herself joking, accompanied by her usual sweet tea that it was still beyond her comprehension that the patterns - big yellow sunflowers - did not make her eyes sore by dint of constantly seeing those imposing plants.

Having lived on a farm and taken care of one for as many years as she had, she had in her life encountered or even planted many of them. It wasn't that they were her favorites but they had their share of usefulness around the farm and perhaps, in ways, they reminded her of her sick husband; who'd never set a foot inside their home without one of them in hand.

His work was tough and tiring, it required time, patience and his schedule was never precise. But he had made a vow - more to himself than to anyone else - to never go home after a long day of labor without showing his wife that she had consumed his thoughts.

And, stealing a flower from his own farm when time, regrettably, did not allow him to buy her some from the shop, was to him, a thoughtful gesture nonetheless.

The table was now flowerless, to the exception, of course, of the ones on the tablecloth. Ever since J.V McKinney had suffered a stroke three years ago, the vases around the house were more empty than decorated or filled-in.

Sometimes Ariel herself, or her siblings would perpetuate what had almost become a tradition and would bring in a flower from the fields to remind their aging mother of the good old days - that she, ever so often, shamelessly and desperately longed for.

But that had come to an end when Helen had made the decision to part from both the table and the familial cloth. She'd offered it to Ariel, pretexting that they were too big now that all of her children were scattered around different parts of The States and that, for celebrations such as Thanksgiving or Christmas, when they'd all reunite and gather around a delicious feat, they could always use the one in the living room.

She knew, indubitably, that there was more beneath the surface that the elder McKinney woman was letting on. Her memories had become too heavy to carry by herself. Some, more vivid than others, were engraved in her mind - so intense they almost felt real. Others, on the other hand, had begun to fade away, becoming blurry, much to her dismay.

Trying to hold onto these memories was a task very dear to the woman's heart, worth the frustration that it led to, as she hoped to form clearer images in her head. But it was also a form of torture that she was much too old or tired to keep on inflicting upon herself.

She had been taking care of her husband ever since he'd gotten sick and reminiscing about their life together and what J.V could no longer do had become more of a burden than a safe haven. She was happy if one of her daughters could make a better use of them than she presently could.

As Ariel stood in her kitchen, wearing a simple top and a fantasist pair of pajama bottoms, resembling a zombie that had just stepped on a deserted island, - desperately seeking the brains of an innocent soul -, her eyes caught the sight of the dishes on the counter that her and Barrett had left after they'd had dinner and chosen to put behind so that they could enjoy the comfort of their sofa as they snuggled, to watch the latest Meryl Streep movie that she'd bought at the store after grocery shopping.

She scrunched up her nose, making a face at the plates that called her name and gravitated towards the telephone on the counter. She pressed on a button which immediately turned on the device that displayed an orange light. On the top-right hand corner spelled out the word 'kitchen' and, the opposite side indicated her that there'd been no missed calls.

It all made perfect sense, she was reminded, for the clock read that it was 3:09 in the morning. Nobody would have tried to reach her at this unholy time of day.

Sighing, she leaned against her worktop, staring into space. She moved her hand underneath her chin, her wedding ring on her finger facing her. The embossed design was uncomfortable against her skin but she didn't care. Instead, she tapped her finger on her jawline, deep in her thoughts.

 _Why did he have to be so quiet?_

Soon, she found herself energetically cleaning the plates that had been ogling her barely a couple of minutes before. She had nothing to do and welcomed the distraction more than she had dared to realize.

Usually, when insomnia knocked on her door and imposed its presence as companion, she'd be baking something. But tonight was different. She was in no mood to be cooking anything.

To her, cooking rhymed with conviviality, hospitality and was synonym of a happy mood. And what she felt was the furthest thing from happy.

That's why, instead, she scratched the plate furiously even though she'd washed it so many times already, she could see her reflection and could have used it as a mirror if she'd wanted it.

She needed to wipe something the way she wanted to wipe out the thoughts that clouded her mind and refused to give her a respite.

They crossed her mind from one side to the other, at top speed, sometimes interrupting one another, just as she'd barely began to process her thinking. They felt like the city during rush hour and it was hardly surprising that they had made it impossible for her to close her eyes and not restlessly toss around in bed.

They were happening again, those engulfing thoughts, so much that she failed to pay attention when she set the plain white plate in the rack provided to put them down.

With the hand that wasn't underneath the water, she accidentally pushed one of them which inevitably led to it crashing on the ground, startling her.

Ariel opened her mouth, leaping to the side so that she wouldn't be in the way of the breaking pieces of porcelain. They echoed in a loud noise in the sleeping household, reminding her of how everything seemed louder at night. Stupefied, she watched wide-eyed as if the scene was unfolding in slow-motion.

If anything, she'd reached her goal, her thoughts had stopped and her mind was finally occupied by something else other than a certain brown-haired man.

In a twinkling of an eye, however, she was on her knees, cleaning up the mess she'd made. Much like the plate, she was on the edge, close to a breaking point.

In the process of bringing the remaining bits of the platter, one piece bounced back against the cleaning shovel. She cussed in aggravation, something she rarely did.

The tumult had woken up Barrett who had went down the stairs, unnoticed by the tired redhead. Forced to lean over to retrieve the jumping item, she finally noticed a presence in the room.

Legs covered in grey sweatpants, slightly rolled up at the feet, came to her view and for a second, she held back a sob.

She'd only broken something by mischance, all in all not exactly being anything that didn't happen to nobody else but, alas, added to her uptightness, it was the extra drop of water that made the vase overflow.

She gulped at an attempt to get rid of the bittersweet taste the feeling of failure was leaving her and played with the glass, unable to look up.

Eventually, Barrett's voice pierced the thick atmosphere. He spoke firmly, no discernible sign of sleepiness in his voice.

"What's going on, Ariel?"

At that, she dared to let her gaze meet his, while her fingers picked up the shattered section and dropped it on the cleaning equipment.

"Huh?" Her voice came in a high-pitched tone yet, only above a whisper.

"Why are you cleaning now? Honey, it's three in the morning." Her partner informed her.

"I just couldn't sleep. You know I do anything I can to tire me out when I can't sleep." She responded, redirecting her stare to what she held in her hands.

Her red curls, or rather the strands of hair that weren't held up by her messy bun fell candidly over her face, tickling her.

"But why? You haven't had insomnia in years. The only time you're ever up this late is when you're correcting your students' work." He raised an eyebrow.

"No, what is _really_ going on?"

"I'm probably going through menopause." Ariel joked, wanting to keep the mood light.

"Menopause looks a lot like your comatose ex." Barrett couldn't help himself as he folded his arms over his chest.

"Why are you using that voice on me?" She scowled.

"I'm not using any voice. What are you talking about?"

"I hate when you use that tone, the one where you're goin' on like I'm hidin' something or you know something about me that even I don't." She paused briefly. "Besides, you know his name. Use it."

"Why are you getting all worked up over it? You're just changing the subject." He groaned, refraining himself from rolling his eyes.

"I'm not avoiding the subject. Quit being so paranoid!" She pursed her lips, uncertain if she was in capacity to deal with him right now.

"You've been this different person ever since you found out he woke up. That's an odd coincidence, don't ya think?"

"I haven't been acting strange. Especially not since Bran woke up. I simply couldn't sleep. Gee, let it go. Please?" Now it was her turn to roll her eyes.

"I know you, Ariel. And I can tell the news did something to you. And look, it's okay. I get it. I do. You loved the guy and you had this... life together. But why don't you come to me and talk to me about it? I'm here for you."

He'd expected a smile but was greeted by nothing but her ignorance. For a second, he swore she looked offended by his words. Her silence as well as the way she seemed to look everywhere but at him irritated him.

"Come on, it's about him, isn't it?" He pressed.

"All I'm worried about is how Juliet is going to handle seeing her father. That's all." Her answer came flatly and she went back to her occupation.

"Has he called?" The sandy-blonde man tried again, knowing that acting like he was on her side was the best option he had.

"No. I left messages at his hotel but nothin'." She looked further down, stopping her movements, her voice breaking faintly. He perceived it and felt his heart twitch at the sound.

Slowly, he approached her and bent down to her level. She glanced at him once more, this time her eyes watering, clouding her vision. The light springing from the room highlighting just that, bringing it even more to his attention.

"Give him time, he will eventually." He seemed calmer as he spoke, forcing her, in turn, to soften too.

Her hand dropped the handle of the plastic article as she sought comfort and reassurance from the man in front of her that looked at her lovingly. She'd guiltily loved him for many years now and welcomed his touch when he brought her chin to him, forcing her to lock her eyes with his.

She watched his expression, attempting to read if he was sincere or not. The unreasonably anxious side of her made her doubt whether he chose to pretend that he was fine with the situation at her expense or, if she'd truly found the most compassionate man in all New York.

But deep down, she knew, and within reason, that he wasn't.

Choosing to ignore it, she accepted the lie, contorting her lips into an awkward, barely-there smile, her cheeks not so compromising. The corners of her mouth fought to fall down, nearly revealing her true mood. She could feel its reluctance to be moulded falsely.

When she finally averted her gaze, her smile fell lifeless, allowing her face to return to a cold hard gawk.

She looked like a four-year-old, vulnerable in every sense of the word but she embraced him, her arms wrapping around him whilst her hand came to lay on the nape of his neck.

"It took so long to get you to where you are now. Don't throw that away."

That last sentence made her freeze and suddenly, the tension had come back. This time, however, accompanied by her firing temper.

That had been the one thing he shouldn't have said.

"You think I'm doing it on purpose?"

"I didn't say that." Barrett shook his head, feeling her pull away from him. She sprung to her feet, tugging at her shirt.

"No, but you implied it. I didn't plan this! I didn't think he'd wake up now and find out about us in such circumstances! And I'm tryin' to adjust, okay? I'm not going to apologize for havin' a lot on my mind." She narrowed her eyes, beginning to get flustered.

"I want to be supportive and I swear I'm tryin' here but one day, soon, my patience is going to run thin. I thought you had moved on? Why should you care how he found out?" His voice rose as he accused her through his teeth.

"I have! But you have to understand what it's like for me, Barrett." She sighed. "Oh, you know what? Forget it. I wouldn't expect you to understand."

"You're right. I don't understand how you can be so hung up on a guy that had no clue what was happening around him for twenty years. _Twenty_ years, Ariel!" He snapped.

"No! What you don't understand is that what we had cannot be forgotten, not now, not ever!" Moving away from him, she flailed, making big gestures with her arms.

"You were young! Of course you're going to be enamored by some handsome guy you met in your youth but reality is different!" The man groaned.

"Some guy? That's just rich! You do realize he's Juliet's father, don't you?"

"Is he now?! He wasn't there to help you raise that kid! I was! Was he the one who helped her with her homework? Who took her to school? Who consoled her when she had her first heartbreak? I don't think so."

"Oh, for crying out loud! It wasn't his fault!" She wrinkled her nose. "I can't believe this."

"Look, all I was trying to say is you can't throw away our life together just because he came back! It's in the past, it's over. You're living through your memories, Ari."

"You're asking me to stop looking behind, alright. But the reality is just that, he's still my husband."

"No, he's not. _I am_." His jaw nearly hit the floor, hearing her.

"Not in the eye of the law. I'm still legally married to him!" The redhead exclaimed.

He approached her and enveloped her wrist with his large fingers.

"We spent eleven years together. Do they not count or mean anything to you?"

"You're puttin' words in my mouth. You can't just waltz in here and get all mad at me? You knew that was going to happen at some point?" She glared at him, puffing her cheeks.

"No, I didn't. I didn't have to anticipate it because I thought he was—"

Eyes widening, she nearly gasped. "He was what? Go on, say it!"

"I thought he was going to die." He blurted.

She rasped out. "You thought what?"

"Ariel, come on! Don't be ridiculous now. You knew the chances of him waking up were slim."

"Wow." Freeing herself from his grip, she rolled her shoulder and exited the kitchen, advancing towards the living room as he followed close behind.

"Honey…" He pleaded.

"Don't 'honey' me." She abruptly turned around, in the process, grabbing the cushion from the couch and threw it at him.

It came to hit him in the stomach as she pursued.

"Is that why you're so mad now? Because I could never bring myself to divorce him? And now that he's back, you're afraid that, what? I'm going to run back to him? Is that what you think I'm goin' to do?"

"Are we seriously going to do this? Now? At three in the morning?"

It was meant to happen. She knew it. She'd tried to put it off until now but conceded that the longer they waited, the more unpleasant their argument would be. Not once had she imagined that Brandon rising from the dead would not cause problems between them but if she had to be honest, she hadn't expected it to happen so fast.

They had both kept their feelings regarding the situation bottled up and they were suddenly spitting out words. It could get out of control pretty fast and she hoped they'd both be smart enough to avoid saying anything they'd regret.

"You know what? Maybe, yes, he should have died! That way, after _everything_ , I wouldn't have to feel like I'm competing against what could have easily become a vegetable that we'd have needed to care for the rest of—"

She silenced him expeditiously.

"Don't you ever dare call him that again!"

Her desire to stop the fight from escalating any further was short-lived and before she could realize what was occurring, her hand flew to his cheek, making direct contact with it. The unexpected force of it hurt her but she assumed that it had to have been even more painful for him.

"You knew that was a risk. You're foolish if you're even thinking of convincing yourself otherwise!" Clenching his jaw, he let his tongue travel and roll to the back of his cheek as his hand came to rub the side that she'd just hit.

The horrified look upon her face was enough to make him resent himself for what he'd verbalized. She rounded the couch, her chest rising up and down, her breathing showing him just how infuriated she was.

From his spot, it even looked as if she was shaking.

"That was inconsiderate, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say it like that." He sighed, dropping his arms to his sides.

"I'm... just tired." Barrett justified, inclining his head.

As she headed towards the coat rack, Ariel quickly peeped over her shoulder.

"Go back to bed, then." She announced dryly.

Confused, his attention remained on her and he watched her bend over to tuck her pants into her worn-out cowboy boots, by the door.

"What— Or rather, _where_ are you going?" He interrogated, hesitant to take a step forward.

"Out."


	9. Chapter 9

"Are you sure you had never seen her before?"

Brandon held a photograph of Victoria Reyes in his hands, his arm stretched and resting on the edge of the table in front of him. He sat nonchalantly on a chair, pushed a little further away from the black wooden desk and refrained from rolling his eyes at the Captain's question.

Instead, he focused his gaze on the thin and gaunt face of the victim he'd been one of the last to see alive.

She'd been a wild one, that much he could tell. She had more than likely been one to party too much or more precisely, she'd frequented the wrong people that, he guessed, had ultimately led to her premature death.

"I just got out of the hospital, Conran." He responded, not failing to show his exasperation.

Despite the dark circles under her eyes that added a couple of years to her appearance, the blonde didn't look older than forty, if that.

He had been asleep for twenty one years which would have made her a young adult or a teenager and he'd been too busy only having eyes for Ariel to have noticed or even cared about the woman.

Most of the missions he'd been assigned before the day that had changed his life occurred, had been spent with Conran, who had been his former partner and if he had known or crossed path with her prior to his coma or her death, he'd have been the first to know.

He knew, of course, that his longtime friend was only trying to follow the procedure and interrogated him the same way he'd have done with anyone else that could testify or had witnessed something.

Alas, it didn't stop him from not appreciating the fact that he was being questioned in the first place. Especially if he was to be greeted with questions that others would know the answers to more than him.

And even if he had bumped into her by happenstance in the past, he'd require something more than a recent picture to jog his memory. After spending so many years of his life in a bed, he was lucky to be able to get back on his feet without neurologic sequelae that'd affect his ability to think.

Turning to look at the larger man beside him, Brandon wrinkled his forehead.

"Who's this girl?" He asked, tossing the picture back towards Nolan who sat on the other end of the table in the private interrogation room.

On his left, was a picture of the victim's body, laying in a pool of her own blood in, what he presumed, was her living room.

The piece of evidence had blue undertones, connoting that it had been taken in the dark. The deceased woman wore a silk and lacy nightgown and had both her arms bent and positioned close to her head.

Ironically, there was something peaceful about the look on her face, giving the photograph a lesser gruesome vibe.

"Victoria Reyes, 37. Single, unemployed and mother of a two-year old boy." The police officer clarified, sliding his finger across the touchpad of the laptop placed in front of him, separating him and Brandon.

Beside it, stood a big desk lamp that gleamed to the point it nearly blinded the three men. Nolan folded his arms across his chest as Conran, who had retrieved further to the back, stayed beside the mugshot wall that they used for heights marking. He studied his friend's reaction but the latter remained impassive.

"Where is he?" He demanded simply, reaching for a paper by the laptop that he glided towards himself.

"Her sister was babysitting him." Conran interrupted in an icy tone.

At that, his ex-partner looked up to meet his eyes. He pulled a face, fingers still touching the white paper.

"Mr. Hart..."

"Yes?"

Nolan paused briefly as his gaze hovered on the confused man before him.

"This morning, at 8 o'clock, after your prison cell release, where were you?" He asked, not once losing the firmness in his voice.

It amused Brandon more than it intimidated him. He remembered his first years as an agent, when he'd tried to win his spurs and acted tougher than he really was, yearning respect and wanting to remind those around that, because he was new and quite obviously lacked experience didn't mean that he wasn't to be taken seriously.

He knew that it was exactly what the younger man was trying to do. There was something about him that made him think that he was, deep down, a very loving man and, if he had to be honest, he wondered why he had chosen this career path. Somehow, it seemed unfitting and not something he was supposed to do, as good as he possibly was at his job.

Putting on his thinking face, he thought for a second, trying to put the pieces back together in his memory. There was a couple of things about the past two days that he wished he could forget and time had been one of the last things that had preoccupied him then.

"I went for a walk in Central Park, why?" He smiled, his way of showing that he had nothing to feel guilty about.

"Can somebody confirm?" Nolan looked down at the pile of papers in front of him.

"No."

The officer blinked, his mouth forming a straight line. The minute that followed was a series of furtive look exchanges, almost like the two men were trying to destabilize one another.

Eventually, Brandon grew tired of it and gave Conran a sidelong glance. The older man had barely said a word, only keeping his hands in his pockets.

"The victim pressed charges against you, a few hours before her death."

The ex-FBI agent brushed his hand past his beard, sort of stroking it. There was an hint of arrogance in his body language as he shrugged.

"So?" He asked, removing his hand from his face and twisting it around in the air.

That wasn't news to him, he was well aware of that information.

"So what?" His interlocutor almost chuckled. "You got out of the hospital against medical advice." He reminded him.

"Wait, a minute!" Pointing his finger at Nolan, the once amused look on his face was no more.

That was the final straw. Brandon had had enough, he hadn't wasted twenty years of his life to lose any more here, being cross-examined for something he had nothing to do with. His temper firing up, he pushed himself off his seat and leaned forward.

"Are you suspecting _me_?!" He clenched his jaw. "Conran, what the hell—? Is this why I came? For an interrogation?!" He fumed, raising his voice in the process.

Betrayed was a weak word to express how he felt at that very moment. He had thought that he had come there to testify, to help with the progression of the case, not because he was a number one suspect on the list.

"Calm down, Bran." His friend shushed him, moving his head to the side as if to silently tell him to let it go.

But he was not about to let it go so easily and as his hand rolled into a fist, his leg bounced up and down in frustration.

Behind the glass window, in the observation room, Gabrielle stood up in her flannel shirt, watching and scrutinizing the altercation. She was trying to make sense of the situation and put every piece of the puzzle they had together, while also hoping that the three men would remain civil.

"Earlier, you spoke about an assailant." The Captain softened and Brandon knew that he had to cooperate otherwise, they'd find another reason not to get off his back.

With a defeated sigh, he plopped back down against the back of the chair, one arm behind it.

"Can you describe him to us?" Conran urged with the faintest of smiles.

"Okay." A growl was heard, there to show that it wasn't something that was being done with joy or any ounce of excitement whatsoever.

"5ft9, 176lb - 187 top, white, brown eyes, right-handed, bald, maybe of Russian or Ukrainian descent, all black from the pants to the leather coat, dark brown suede shoes that were slightly scratched on the tips." He enumerated, speaking so fast that the agent struggled to write everything down on his small pocketbook.

The look on Nolan's face had changed, his shoulders slouched and he no longer felt superior to the suspected. In fact, he was made aware of one reality: Brandon had been part of the team before, he was one of them. And his performance right there seemed to be a manifestation of how good he too had been at his job.

The guy was smart with an impressive eye for detail and he had just proved it. Knowing that he couldn't keep up with his speed, he stopped writing, holding the pen in between his fingers, almost frozen, studying the other man's face for any little thing that could indicate whether he was lying or not.

"And you can add a broken nose to the list 'cause I'm pretty sure I heard it cracking." Brandon pursued, not letting anyone in the room undermine him.

He accompanied the rest of his description with a strong clenched fist, punching the air to highlight what he was saying. The turquoise ring on his finger almost rolled from the quick movement.

Conran's laugh suddenly echoed throughout the room.

"Well, damn." He shook his head, amused. "If only every witness were as precise as him." He teased.

Was it his way of lightening up the mood and to let his agent go easy on his friend?

Brandon, however, didn't share his amusement. He stayed defiant, tense, his eyes never leaving the ones of the man on the opposite side of the table. His jaw was locked and he was boiling inside.

"So... the victim, do you think she knew him?" The Captain quickly regained his composure, getting back to business. The hypothesis of a suicide was clearly dismissed at this point.

"I don't know." Hart loosened, hoarsely. "She was scared but... she didn't seem surprised."

Silence soon filled the room, the only perceivable sound was the one of Nolan's pen, lightly banging against the edge of the desk.

"What do we have on this woman?" The ex-FBI agent broke the sullen quietness.

A distorted expression quickly made way to Conran's face.

"Not 'we', Bran." He sighed. "Thanks for your help but _we_ will handle it."

He winked at his longtime friend, his way of showing him that he wasn't meaning that in a bad way but also to serve as a reminder that, even though he had been let in on the case, and not by choice, it was simply not his responsibility and everything was to be shielded from the public, which certainly included him.

As expected, that didn't sit well with Brandon who glared at the imposingly large man beside him. He knew that he was only following the rules but in some way, he felt belittled, excluded.

After everything he had been through, he'd have appreciated a sense of normality, a taste of his old life back. He'd have loved to feel useful and put his skills to good use.

And if that meant helping his old partner and resolving the murder of a young mother, that was only the cherry on top.

But times sure had changed. It seemed that whatever he did, someone - or something went out and beyond to remind him of that.

"In the meantime, while we are waiting to verify your statements, we'll have to remand you in custody."

Nolan announced, using the back of his knees to extract himself from his seat and push it backward to get back on his feet. He stood straight, hands hanging on each of his sides as Brandon did the same.

Both men were on their feet, facing one another.

"I beg your pardon?" He narrowed his eyes quizzically, the harsh sound of his guttural voice intensifying the awkwardness in the room.

"It's okay. Hey, forget it." Conran waved them off. "He's my responsibility. Come on, Davenport, let it go."

Nolan let his eyes flick to his boss.

"You can go, Bran." The Captain added, much more friendly.

"That's too kind o'ya." The brown-haired said sarcastically.

The fury in his eyes was undeniable. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he walked past his ex-partner and headed to the door.

"This weekend in a cell. Today, a questioning..." He came to an halt, scrunching his nose, just as his hand reached for the doorknob. "It's funny but I didn't _exactly_ imagine my comeback to go like this." He couldn't help but scoff.

"Good day, gentlemen."

And with that, he opened the door and left.

* * *

In the depth of the night, a screwdriver between his teeth, Brandon Hart threw a hasty look over his shoulder. He knew he wasn't supposed to be there and acknowledged how one mishap could escalate into great danger for him.

If he was caught, by the police or a prowler that wanted to clean up after their tracks, the life of freedom he so craved for could once again, and easily, slip through his fingers.

But, unfortunately, it was also his only option as of now. If by chance, he found even if only a trail that could incriminate the real responsible behind Victoria's death, he deemed it worth it.

He was determined to get to the bottom of this, to prove his innocence so that he could start this new chapter of his life, free of undeserved charges and on a much happier note than the one he'd started with.

The only positive aspect through all of this was that the investigation and his semi-accusation had kept him so occupied that his mind had barely had time to wander back to Ariel and reflect on the devastating news he had received when he had found out about the man that had replaced him.

Sure, he hadn't replaced him _per se_ but to him, it made no big difference. He had stolen a heart that had once belonged to him.

The incandescent light perched on the big front doors of the building where Victoria had lost her life shone brightly, simplifying the task at hand. It allowed him to maneuver the lock of the door more efficiently and see what he was doing in spite of the darkness.

With gloves covered hands, he kneeled down so that he could be at the same level as the doorknob. He had to act fast, before the sleeping neighborhood awoke and a passerby caught him on the crime scene.

Sliding the bobby pin he'd found on the ground through the lock, he lifted his free hand to grab the screwdriver that had started to numb his jaw and glided the hand tool exactly where the hair fastener was. He kept it stationary and moved the other piece back and forth until he found the spot he was looking for, all the while he remained careful as to not bend or break anything.

His expertise that he was glad to see he hadn't lost saved him some time and much to his amazement, the lock conceded to him. He looked behind him once more, slowly getting back up properly.

Then, he used the tip of the screwdriver to draw a vertical line, ripping the yellow and black police tape that had been plastered all around the back door. Not wasting time, he opened the door and entered the room, thankful that the younger woman had been living on the first floor.

His heart began to race and he inhaled sharply, hoping that, if there was such a thing as a lucky star, it'd help make his risky trip a fruitful night.

As soon as he was inside, he shut the door behind him and brandished a flashlight, shoving the tools he'd previously used in his other pocket.

"Here goes nothin'..." He thought to himself, trying to think of a strategy and where he'd begin looking.

The first thing that came to his view as he let the light travel around him was a chest of drawers where three or four picture frames were scattered. Some of the pictures were of Austin when he seemed to have been merely a couple of months old, some of Victoria herself and a small dog and, another of a couple he assumed had to have been her parents.

The piece of furniture was positioned against an unique brick wall and there was, overall, nothing unusual about it so far. Though, as he remembered the woman he'd held in his arms after she had gotten beat up by the strange bald man, a cold shiver cursed through his body.

He felt uncomfortable at the thought of being at her house where something so tragic had happened to her, even more so now that he had gotten a glimpse of her private life.

Venturing further into the apartment, he held his breath as he was greeted by the white chalk outline of the woman's body. He could clearly distinguish the dried residue of blood by the head and he had to close his eyes for a brief instant, to collect himself.

Once upon a time, he'd been used to seeing such sights but it'd been so long and no matter how many he had seen before, the experience still remained perturbing.

From his position, Victoria's place looked better than average. The property constituted of one gigantic room with refined furniture, showing that whoever had paid for them had great taste.

At first glance, it could have appeared messy to some. But for a mother living with a two-year old, it was relatively well taken care of. On the right corner was a table with two matching stools and against the wall behind him was a coat hanger where a couple of clothing items were thrown over it, threatening to fall for most of them.

The left corner was the most disorganized part of the whole apartment, where Austin's toys were scattered all around. There was a massive play tent and quite a few duvets, fluffy blankets as well as pillows and various other items he couldn't discern with his pocket flashlight.

By the kitchen was one of the most original picture frames he'd ever seen. It displayed several pictures of the little boy that faded and changed into another picture every ten seconds; one of him in the sand and the other of him smiling cheekily at the camera. From the amount of pictures of Austin in the apartment, he could tell that mother and son shared a special bond.

Gradually moving to the heart of the home, he spotted a massive painting, that covered nearly the totality of the wall. Of course, he wasn't an art expert but he could tell that it was an artwork that had not cost just a few dollars. It looked like it belonged in a museum.

He plopped down underneath it, on the sofa, taking in the view. The apartment truly was enormous, especially for a modest woman like Victoria had seemed to be. Owning real estate, in this New York neighborhood was principally reserved to the wealthy. There was no way she could've gotten it on her own.

Then, something caught his eyes. A packet of matches on the coffee table that spelled the word ' _Winst_ ' which he concluded must have been the name of a bar or a dance club. On the other side of the little box, in the corner, was printed a ' **W** ' in a large font. He pursed his lips, not yet convinced that it was anything he could use to accelerate his researches.

He got back up and continued his exploration, reaching a different part of the apartment, where dozens of clothes were laying on a bed, almost hiding it. There were a few books tossed on the bedside table, nothing really unusual or alarming.

In her opened closet was a drawer full of designer heels, of every type of color known to man. For an unemployed person in the city, that gave him something to think about.

Somebody had to have been gifting them to her.

Could it be that she had failed to fulfill her end of the bargain and thus, the person had became angry and got carried away?

He glanced around once more before bending down to a box full of nicknacks at the foot of her bed. As he was kneeling, adept fingers hunting through diverse items, he spotted yet another pack of matches, of the same design and size.

Now, he was starting to get intrigued by them. He observed the article for a second or so and decided on bringing it back home with him. He'd look for the place Victoria had visibly been a fervent visitor, later during the day. Perhaps some clients or the owner of said place would be able to help solve the questions he had.

Just as he was about to take his search further, the racking of a pistol slide resounded.

"Hands in the air!" A voice shouted urgently from behind him, abruptly interrupting his inspection and forcing him to slightly jump in fright.

As adrenaline overwhelmed his senses, his blood turned to ice.

He'd been caught.

Complying to the demand he had been given, he gulped, and progressively moved his hands beside his head, his middle and index finger keeping the flashlight steady as he stared at the light it reflected on the empty white wall before him.

Gingerly, he moved from his kneeling position and straightened his legs, standing tall with his back facing the unexpected visitor. His breathing caught in his throat, yet, he dared to glance aside, wanting to get a glimpse of the person from his peripheral vision.

The male who stood by the entrance of the door held a gun that he never stopped pointing towards him. He kept it straight ahead of him while his free arm reached up to flick the light switch.

Immediately, the room brightened and Brandon's silhouette was perceivable to the police agent.

"You again? You've gotta be kidding me, man!" He heard in an almost humored tone followed by a stomp of a foot.

The voice sounded familiar and for an instant, Brandon pondered where he'd heard it before.

The thin and tall police officer was reassured to be facing someone he'd already encountered and although he'd had his suspicions about him before and he knew how smart the man could be, something told him that if he'd met with somebody else, the situation would've already gotten pretty ugly.

Still, that didn't stop him from being on his guard, —that was part of the job, after all— and he refused to lower his gun just yet. As he'd said to his colleague before, there was no predicting what the man could do or if he hadn't come accompanied and it was important for him to ensure his own safety.

"What about ya?" Brandon's eyes widened as he turned around, dumbstruck.

Now, he knew where he'd heard that voice before. _Of course_. How had he not registered that sooner?

There was something quite comical about the scene, both men stood facing each other, trying to make sense of what was going on and riding themselves of how surprising finding one another there, in the middle of the night, actually was.

"Me?" Nolan's high-pitched tone vibrated through the entire room. "I'm doing my job!" He spoke fast, almost like a child who was trying to updo one of his classmates.

That made Brandon smile as he blinded him with his flashlight, without even realizing it.

Nolan squinted and grimaced, knowing his pride was once again close to getting hurt. He needed to keep the upper hand.

"Lower that thing!" He commended but his overall attitude was a lot nicer than the last time he'd seen him.

He simply seemed to be one of those young men who were overflowing with energy and didn't know what to do with it. At least, that's the impression he was getting at that very moment.

"In the middle of the night?" Brandon challenged him, but obeyed nonetheless and clicked on the button so that the item in his hand would no longer display any light.

"It's not your problem if, uh... if I'm insomniac." He stuttered. There really was something about Brandon that overawed him, which the latter noticed and it didn't fail to amuse him.

A second or two passed and Nolan shifted his weight onto his other foot, keeping his position.

"So?" He pressed, wanting an answer to the question he had asked.

"I'm trying to understand why I'm being accused of murder, alright?" Brandon almost rolled his eyes.

His frustration was growing. Not so much because of Nolan, rather because of the incessant ridiculous situations he kept getting into since he released himself from the hospital.

Was it a punishment for not listening to the doctor's advices?

He'd expected — Heck, he'd been warned about the risks of finding himself in intense situations, especially if he tried to adjust back by himself but that went beyond a level he could have ever imagined.

Nolan half nodded, his features relaxing. That was a reasonable reason, in spite of the fact that what he was doing was extremely wrong.

Not only had he trespassed into somebody else's property but he was encroaching on a crime scene and was potentially putting the investigation in jeopardy.

He could accidentally leave prints, remove evidences or lose clues that could've helped the team put an end to the mystery surrounding Victoria Reyes' death.

"Come on, don't you want to put that gun away so we can talk?" The middle-aged man demanded, approaching the police officer, all the while gesturing towards the weapon that remained pointed at him.

"I'm not interested in talking to you!" Nolan whined, backing away defensively.

He stepped out of the room and Brandon followed suit.

"Your hands! Show them to me!" His eyebrows went up, giving him an hilariously creepy expression as he glanced down at the man in the leather jacket.

Brandon was tempted to crack a joke but refrained from asking him if he had ever tried entering a Jack Nicholson impression contest. He wasn't certain how well his question would be received.

Instead, he sighed and did as he was told. He lifted his hands back in the air and twisted them around, showing Nolan that aside from his flashlight, he was unarmed. Which, by definition, put him more at risk than Nolan himself.

"Are you always this annoying?" The police officer groaned, speaking with a newfound vigor.

"No. I take breaks sometimes." Brandon snickered. "And now I've got twenty _long_ years to make up for, y'see."

Keeping his hands above his head, he walked further into the living room, pressing the button of his flashlight in the process, as to no longer be plunged into darkness. Nolan moved to the side, having still not lost his position and remained alert. He threaded on the heels of the other man whom strolled around the white exposed support pole that encompassed the room.

"Have you checked Victoria's bank accounts? 'cause I don't know how the unemployment benefits are nowadays but I'm under the impression that you can't afford something like this with the allowance they give ya. If not, sign me up right now!"

He pointed out, doing a 180-degree turn so that he could be facing Nolan again, who he knew was behind him with his handgun ready to shoot if he did any sudden motion he felt threatened by.

"Thank you but we didn't wait for you." Nolan responded with a roll of his shoulder.

He was getting sore from keeping his arms stretched out the way they were and felt the tension leave when he heard a light crack in his spine.

"Now turn around. Friend of the Captain or not, you're gonna have to follow me back to your jail cell." His voice dissipated into the cramped silence that had, once more, descended between the two of them.

Brandon raised an eyebrow, looking unbothered.

Eventually, he complied and his back was soon facing the law enforcement agent again. He clicked his tongue before he dared speak.

"The prison visit, it's something you're obsessed with, isn't it?"

"Yeah, right." Nolan grumbled sarcastically, reaching for his back pocket.

There, he tentatively tried to retrieve a pair of handcuffs but with one hand occupied with his gun and his eyes moving back and forth from his side to the back of Brandon's head, it was a lot trickier than he had anticipated, especially by himself. As one side of the handcuff got caught in the material of his jeans, he looked down, detaching his attention from his hostage.

That was all it took for something in the bearded man's brain to click. When Brandon glanced at Nolan and saw his focus had shifted, he took advantage of it to quickly turn around. His movements were faster than his brain had time to even process.

In one swift move, he flew his arm around the officer, making him bend over. Once destabilized, his fingers fumbled over his pocket and he took a hold of the item he had been looking for.

A loud thud was heard, followed by the clicking of handcuffs locking.

He had locked him to the structural support beam. Standing above a huddled up Nolan, the ex-FBI agent gave him a sheepish apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry. Honestly." He said. "But at the same time, you didn't really give me a choice."

He defended himself, just as the the trapped man, caught in a case of biter bit, slid the handcuff up the pole, transitioning into a standing position, face nearly touching the vertical piece of architecture.

From Brandon's position, it almost looked like he was hugging it.

Letting out a sneer, he tucked the key into his own back pocket, taking a few steps towards the counter, just across from them. In his free hand, laid the handgun he'd snatched once his prey had been securely locked.

Uncertain as to how he'd have managed to prevent Nolan from doing his job and, combined with the fact that had no desire in heading back to the police station, he'd had no greater alternative.

At least, with that little trick, he hoped it'd calm down the eager law enforcer. And, he admitted, should he find himself stuck in a jail cell again, he wanted it to be for something he _did_ do.

"I'll put your weapon here, okay?" He softened.

He wasn't going to humiliate the other adult further but boy did he need to hold back a laugh. The satisfaction he had gotten out of the past two minutes went far beyond anything he could have imagined. It almost made the riskiness of the plan he'd put into action to sneak in Victoria's house, at such an unholy hour, so worth it.

At loss of words, Nolan remained silent. He'd been beat at his own game and he wanted to avoid embarrassing himself a second time, if it was even possible to do worse than that. The corner of his mouth somewhat bent upward in pure vexation.

The two men looked at one another in awkward silence for what felt like an incredibly long time but was, in fact, only a couple of seconds. Neither really knew what to do or say.

Well, one of them didn't have many opportunities to consider and the other was debating on how incorrect it would be to simply walk out.

"Uh... do you need... anything?" He spaced out the words carefully, doing his best not to slur them together. "A glass of water, maybe? Or, well..."He trailed off, making a vague gesture with one of his hands, hoping that his interlocutor would finish his sentence for him.

Which he did.

"I'll be fine." Nolan said quietly, defeated.

As a response, he offered him a wry smile, his body pointing towards the door.

"Alright. So, erm... well, I'm gonna go, then."

The night had unquestionably taken an unexpected turn. The police officer rested his chin against the white pole, slouching as though he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and the look on his face could have nearly made Brandon feel sorry for him.

If he shared his life with somebody, his heart soared for the grumpy mood they'd be greeted by when he'd return home. But something told him that he lived alone.

"I'll give the NYPD a call so they can come and free ya—"

"I'd rather you didn't..." Nolan nearly cut him off, making a shrug-like motion. "If you don't mind."

A grimace followed.

"Very well." He smothered his laughter. "See you soon." He nodded his head toward the younger man, as a polite way to bid him goodbye.

Then, he advanced towards the door but came to a brusque stop shortly after. Poking his head behind the counter he'd rounded, he leaned his upper body against the furniture, one of his legs hanging in the air behind him.

"No hard feelings, eh?" He winked, clicking his finger together and tipping his index finger in his direction.

"Oh! And, next time, I expect my jail cell to have my name on it somewhere. If you're going to make me visit so often, you may as well make it feel, I don't know... a little more homey." He suggested before leaving.

As soon as he heard the door close and the night had engulfed Brandon in its glacial arms, Nolan allowed himself to roll his eyes, letting out a low snarl as he did his very best to reach for the pocket of his shirt, that contained his cellphone.

Surprisingly, it didn't require much effort and, careful as to not drop the device that he held in between his two fingers, he pressed a number on the keyboard, the one he'd assigned for his partner in case of emergencies.

The brunette picked up the phone rapidly, much to his relief.

"Hey, Gabs? Davenport here. Yes, yeah—I know, it's late. Could you join me at Victoria Reyes' apartment?"

He faltered briefly, stammering and searching for his words when, his intrigued colleague, asked him what he was doing there.

"I—I... I'll explain later." He urged, eager to end the conversation so that he could get his hands back and this, before they became sore.

"Thank you." He sighed.

Pushing the Blackberry from his ear, he lowered it so that he could look at the screen and pressed on the red button to end the call.

As he was about to slip the phone back into his pocket, his jacket brushed against something that sent the red light garland that was wrapped around the support beam, which, as a result, illuminated the living area.

To make matters worse, a cheerful jingle accompanied the shining light —was it a Christmas tune? or perhaps a melody you'd use to soothe a child?— and resounded throughout the room.

"Awh, geez! Forkin' seriously!?" Nolan shuffled his feet, more so to get rid of his growing temper.

He felt dumb and shamefaced, swearing that if he had been in a movie, they'd have used a sad and dramatic _dun_ _dun dun_ sound effect to add to the scene.

* * *

After coming back to his motel to catch up on some sleep, Brandon woke up bright and early with a mission he was more than determined to accomplish.

It had taken him well-over two hours to find what he he had been looking for but, as soon as he'd gotten it, he had headed to another foreign destination.

He'd went through the phone book with the hope to find something that'd lead him to the only family member Victoria had left, beside her son; her sister, Judith.

He had no idea what had happened to Nolan Davenport after he'd left him tied to a pole in the middle of the apartment and he didn't really care, his mind had not even once drifted back to him ever since he had gone back to recharge his batteries.

And, as he had introduced himself to the younger distraught woman once he'd made it to her house, begging her to grant her a few minutes of her time, especially when he'd went through the entire dusty phonebook to find her, he'd been relieved when she'd finally caved in.

At first, she'd told him that it wasn't the right time but after he had confessed to being the one who had helped her sister after her assault, it'd changed her mind and she'd agreed to a conversation with him.

It hadn't taken him long to point out that the two sisters shared different lifestyles. They couldn't have been any different, if the house was any indication.

But, he quickly discovered that the house in which Judith lived actually belonged to their parents whom had died 30 years before, when Victoria was still a little girl. Judith had taken care of her, though it had been very difficult, as herself had only been a teenager, close to majority. It pained him that Austin would have the same sad life story, having lost a parent at such a young age.

At 18, Victoria had apparently told her sister that she was leaving, wanting to go her own way. She'd not given any life updates or even called for months and when she had seen her again, she was dressed like a superstar, mentioning 3-star restaurants and luxury hotels. She'd refused to tell her where she had gotten her money, shutting down completely the minute the topic was brought up.

Now, it was Judith who was taking care of her son and, because he was so little, he didn't know about his mom yet, even though she'd tried explaining it to him. Brandon was curious to ask about Austin's father but didn't want to pry and kept his questions to himself.

After all, he had no right interviewing her. It wasn't like he still had a job as a FBI agent anymore and he wasn't sure the woman was willing to share every detail of her sister's life with him.

However, Judith mentioned that she'd had the kid alone and that, as much as his mother was everything to him, he'd been everything to her too.

That somehow did something to him. For a second, as selfish as it was, the case was no longer just about Austin and his mother. He thought back about his own daughter and how she must have felt the same distress, growing without both her parents.

In an instant, he wanted justice.

Not just for Victoria, but for Juliet, too.

* * *

Nolan walked briskly as he entered the police station, his acolyte Gabrielle following close behind.

There was an abundance of annoyance in his demeanor and he let out a heavy sigh while the brunette attempted to catch up to him, fumbling with the zipper of her dark grey winter coat.

There had been an unexpected twist to the investigation that had led to a completely different trail. The news, however, were nothing to be rejoicing for. It had only opened a door to a longer list of suspects and the possibilities were endless, only complicating the case more.

"She was indeed a call-girl. According to the Vice Squad, no known pimp. She was working alone." He announced, making his way through the halls.

His partner looked at him, leer filled with questions but, he was quicker to the task and was the one asking them.

"What do we have on her client list?"

They rounded a corner and reached their office where Brandon had been only a couple of days prior.

"We don't know yet. She had to have been meeting up with them somewhere. A bar, a hotel—anywhere."

Nolan stopped at his desk and proceeded to take off his jacket, paying close attention to the conversation they were having. The room was relatively quiet, only three of their colleagues, all attached to their respective work and in deep concentration.

Gabrielle retrieved to her own side of the bureau and continued. "I'll take a look at her bank statements, go over them with a fine-tooth comb."

"What about the ballistic report?" He asked, hanging his jacket on a hook behind him.

"No correspondence with a registered weapon."

A sigh escaped from Nolan's lips.

"Nothing to get out of, really." She concluded and took off her own coat before walking up to his desk where he had now taken a sit.

Standing in front of him, she leaned her hands downwards and watched him open one of his drawers, inspecting it, only to close it again, barely a second later.

"Do you think Hart could be linked to the murder?" She frowned.

Deep in her gut, she felt that the man was innocent, that he had happened to find himself at the wrong place, at the wrong time.

But, hypothetically, he could have also been one of those people that sought revenge for what had happened to him.

He could be fueled by rage, mad at the world and taking it out on innocent people. Or, perhaps, Victoria had been the girlfriend of somebody he suspected and blamed for his accident. They'd seen that happen more than they could count and appearances were often very misleading.

"It's possible." Nolan crossed his arms, leaning back in his seat. "Even though the Captain is persuaded that he's not."

He almost scoffed. "They were partners, it must be hard for him to imagine him as a killer." He tilted his head, almost as if to say that this theory could be plausible and should be given the benefit of a doubt.

Gabrielle didn't waste time replying. "Yeah, and what would his motive be?"

She shrugged, now realizing just how absurd and _too_ easy that was. The man was clever, he wouldn't have let himself get caught so easily, as rusty as his coma could've made him. She wasn't leaning on the same side as Nolan on that one.

"No idea. But after twenty years of coma and what he did to me last night..." The young man rolled his chair forward and reached for a pen, his tone a clear indication that his male pride had been hurt.

"Who knows what he's capable of." He mumbled tiredly.

* * *

"I am the flying penguin!" Brandon almost sang, in a deep fun-loving voice, waggling a pastel blue toy in front of him that he held by his flippers.

He hid behind the said penguin which looked slightly worn out, a sign that it had been carried around everywhere and for a little while now.

"And I'm coming down to get a kiss from Austin!" He added, keeping his cheerful tone but this time, lowering the stuffed animal so that it would be closer to the little boy, illustrating his words.

With that movement, Brandon's face was revealed to the entertained child which resulted in him flashing the adult a bright toothless smile.

Sitting in a high red chair, wearing an orange bib with a striped blue and green outline, the light-eyed boy enjoyed the game that he had been playing with the ex-FBI agent for the past couple of minutes.

To anyone who would have seen them, it would have unthinkable that at that very moment, two members of the police force were questioning his involvement in a murder investigation.

The father in him that was coming out in full swing only highlighted his warm personality that was currently being considered 'dangerous' to a younger man, for the sole reason that he had wanted to remind his boss, Conran, that he still had more tricks up his sleeve and that accusing him wrongly (and without proof) was not the way to go, even though he was a little out-of-touch with reality.

"Are you ready?" Brandon asked with a cheeky, knowing look.

"Yes!" Austin grinned, tapping his fingers against the table.

Moving back into position, the penguin was now hiding the bearded man's face again.

"Are you _really_ ready?" He lowered it back down, nodding his head as he awaited confirmation.

"Yeeeeesss!" The little boy almost growled in excitement, spacing out the word in two syllables. Gosh, he was as cute as a button as Ariel would have put it.

With a wrinkled nose, Brandon mocked his growl as the light sound of the bell in the toy's belly resonated.

"Then, watch that, buddy!" He exclaimed, resuming his pose and stretched out the flippers once more, holding them carefully between his thumbs and index fingers.

"1, 2, 3..." He announced in a deep howl, moving each extremities of the stuffed toy up and down, as if to pretend that the penguin was truly about to fly.

He then proceeded to blow loudly against the back of the animal, his breath serving as the wind that propelled it towards the welcoming arms of the innocent boy. Austin never once stopped smiling and when he was able to reach for the item, he engulfed it in his arms.

"Yeah!" Brandon said, enthusiastically, leaning his forearm over the mahogany table.

"You win!" He winked.

Just then, Victoria's sister walked up behind her nephew, delicately placing her hand over his head, brushing her fingers over his light blonde hair as she did so. He lowered the penguin from his face so that he could continue looking at the silly grown-up in front of him and Judith set the bottle she'd just finished preparing him in the middle of the table, waiting for it to cool off.

"Do you have children?" She softly asked, to make conversation.

She'd watched Brandon interact with her sister's son when she was in the kitchen and she could tell that he was naturally good with kids. There was something about the way he acted with her nephew that had made her think that he'd make a great father.

That, and she hadn't exactly expected to see such a soft side of an ex-FBI agent, having always had this preconceived idea that anyone working in law enforcement was tough; not that you could judge somebody's personality traits by their profession.

The man nodded his head, shifting in his seat and pulled at the sleeve of his black leather jacket.

"I have a daughter, yes. But she's 22." He snickered.

She no longer was of the age to be entertained by stuffed toys or required constant attention, for that matter. And, it wasn't like he had been very present when she'd needed him to be. He realized just there that Austin was only a year older than Juliet had been the last time he'd seen her. The thought itself made his heart sink, which nearly made him wince.

Judith kneeled beside her nephew, flashing him a smile. She didn't comment on the answer she had been given, though it confirmed the suspicion that she'd had, that the man beside her indeed had experience.

"Does it work?" Brandon's focus was back on the boy, his heart breaking for him.

He had no idea what had happened to his mother and would be in for a terrible revelation when he'd be old enough to understand.

"Show me how it works." He added in almost a whisper, his face close to the pastel plaything.

Austin pressed his tiny fingers over the penguin's stomach, babbling something neither adults could quite comprehend.

"Oops. Is it broken?" The brown-haired chuckled.

"No!" The two-year-old told him in a sweet voice, shaking the toy in his hands.

Brandon's own hand flew to apply a stronger pressure on its stomach but nothing followed. Maybe the battery needed to be changed.

The child continued to mumble incomprehensibly and his aunt sprung back to her feet, reaching for the bottle that she soon began feeding him.

Once it was done, she brought him to her arms and went to lay him down on the couch so that he could digest and she could complete her conversation with her visitor, who assuredly didn't have all day to spend with them.

"Hey, angel. Look!" She said calmly, adjusting the pillows behind her nephew to make sure he was as comfortable as possible.

The boy, still as adorable as ever, pushed the bib that had risen and half-covered his face and stared at the multicolored plastic parking lot game on the coffee table.

"You're gonna play with the cars, alright?" Judith told him as a smiling Brandon watched them. "I'll be back soon."

Finally, she made her way back to the table where her guest still sat, just a few feet from the couch. Austin's eyes followed her curiously, almost as if he was ensuring that she wasn't abandoning him.

"He's so cute." Brandon couldn't help but gush, a loving look upon his face as Judith took a seat across from him.

When his gaze met the one of the two-year-old, he wiggled his fingers in his direction, waving at him and earning a squeal in response.

"Victoria wanted to put an end to her nonsense. She turned up four days ago with Austin and one bag full of clothes. She wanted to resume her studies, come back and live here. But first, she had to finish something." Judith explained seriously, looking away.

Instantaneously, they both felt a sudden shift in mood and were reminded of the reason why they had been forced to meet.

Brandon studied her face while she spoke, noticing the redness on her skin from her tears and the messy strands of hair, as though she had been running her hands a lot through her long blonde locks before he had come and knocked on her door.

She was pretty, probably more than her sister for she looked healthier. She resembled an older version of Elle Fanning, a young actress he had never heard of before but that he'd seen on a movie poster when he'd passed a theater on his way there.

"She refused to tell me more." Judith broke the silence that had enveloped them.

In a trice, the man sitting before her rummaged through his pocket and took out what, at first glance, looked like a business card.

"This bar..." He began, holding the matches pack towards her. "Do you know it?"

She reached for them and looked down at the packaging once she held it in between her slender fingers. It was minimalist and elegant. The background was of a darkened purple and the name of the bar ' _Winst_ ' as it read was written in white, in an aesthetically pleasing calligraphic font. She contemplated it for a few seconds before shaking her head no.

Sighing in defeat and hoping for a different answer than the one he received, he turned his head when the sound of Austin's voice graced his ears. The boy had slid off the couch and gotten on his feet, now playing with his cars as his aunt had instructed him only minutes ago.

Just as Austin brought his little fingers to his mouth, Brandon, on the other hand, rose from his seat and went to retrieve a yellow reminder sticker block that he'd spotted when he had first walked into the house and grabbed the pen that laid on top of it. He moved back to the table, hunching his back as he bent to write something down.

"Here's my hotel's phone number. If you need anything— anything at all, please, don't hesitate."

He clicked on the pen and handed the sticker to the blonde woman who looked at him with gratefulness in her eyes.

She seemed relieved to have an ally during this hard time, someone as eager as she was to find out what had happened to her baby sister.

"Thank you."

* * *

 _His hand traveled down her leg, a light touch that sent shivers cursing through her entire body. It was a simple gesture and yet, one that had made her question her resilience. The warmth of his palm against her thigh only intensified the sensation on her skin that she swore was the embodiment of scorching fire._

 _She parted her lips, as if to say something, though she knew that it was more an attempt at getting air flowing to her lungs. She awaited his next movement, impatient, curious, ready._

 _The desire she felt was unrecognizable but nothing compared to the longing that had gotten a hold of her. Oh, the longing was almost unbearable. She had not felt that way in years, dared she say ever?_

 _It was indescribable and she welcomed it, as scared as it also made her. She was almost like put under a spell, close to losing control, yet, lucid enough to be able to put a stop to it had she wanted to._

 _His fingers kneaded her flesh and that was all it took to snap her out of her thoughts._

 _Her body had won over her mind._

 _With her chest rising up and down in a rhythmic pattern, she fought against closing her eyes. He was looking at her with lust-clouded eyes and she wasn't sure how to react to it. It overwhelmed her senses, made her feel the sexiest she had ever felt and she wanted to memorize the look on his face._

 _The stubborn side of her chose not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her melt like a candle under his touch, especially one so ordinary. How could she let him see the affect one simple touch had on her? What would he think of it?_

 _No. Instead, she tried to keep her composure, plastering her best poker face, aiming for a passable imitating of a woman who wasn't rapidly erupting with need._

 _Suddenly, she gulped and the smile that crept on his face told her that he'd heard it. After all, they were alone there in her room with nothing but silence gracing their ears._

 _Of course, he'd heard that loud throaty sound with how close he had gotten to her. That gulp, so innocent, could have cut through the growing tension in the room._

 _Squirming a little in her chair, she felt that ache, the one between her legs that was definitely there and refused to leave. It was so hard, insistent and made her want to yell at him for he was responsible for it._

 _Despite her reluctance to melt in his arms like snow in the sun, she couldn't help but let out a moan as his lips finally met hers._

 _It was like her body had chosen to behave independently and, although she'd never admit it out loud, or even to herself, she was pleased that she could no longer listen to her clouded mind. The one that'd have put a stop to this and prevented her from experiencing that intense sensation of pleasure that threatened to leave her screaming in abandon._

 _His left hand slipped up to her jawline while he pulled her as close to his chiseled chest as possible. His thumb, tracing along her skin distracted her only momentarily from the one that continued to move higher up her thigh, traveling dangerously close to the hem of her panties._

 _She was vaguely aware of the blanket that had fallen down from her lap, to the floor, —too consumed by his ministrations— as she moved and turned her body, shifting her legs towards him._

 _Boldly, he decided to slide a strap down her shoulder, using the hand that had been against her cheek only moments ago, his eager fingers as hungry as his lips massaging her own._

 _It was the kind of kiss that lingered, the one that wanted to stay for a while. Her lower lip in his mouth, he pushed forward for more, wanting her, savoring the unsurprising taste of her cherry lip-balm, the one she always applied when the temperatures started to drop. The one she always kept stashed somewhere in her handbag and that almost always made her curse as it seemed to enjoy playing a game of hide-and-seek with her._

 _When they pulled apart, more so in name than anything else, after what seemed like an eternity of lips teasingly touching, —enough to send her breathing hitching and messing with her vulnerability but at the same time, not enough so that it left her craving, for more— she felt his jaw relax against her own and wondered what would happen next._

 _And, as though he had been reading her mind, he opened his mouth under hers, only slightly. She allowed herself to shiver, not that she had much control over it and before she knew it, his kisses descended until they wandered down her neck, purposely avoiding the area that never failed to make her throw her head back._

 _His teeth brushed against her skin, stopping her frustration for not being kissed on the spot she'd wanted. No part of her felt detached or like an onlooker, she felt everything, her body further from indifferent to what he was doing to her._

 _Soon, the second strap of her nightgown received the same treatment as the other, both falling loosely around her arms._

 _Pleased with the sight before him, he lightly tugged at the piece of clothing, pushing it down until it hugged her stomach, revealing a soft and creamy white skin. The lack of undergarment facilitated the task for him as he watched her heaving breasts standing at attention, begging to be touched._

 _"Oh god!" She gasped when his tongue darted out to do_ _exactly_ _what she'd desperately longed for._


	10. Chapter 10

Her breathing was uneven, labored, as though her lungs were desperate to be filled with air. Her reverie had taken her to a place she hadn't been in a long time.

Of course she'd fantasized about those moments more than she'd ever dare acknowledge it, and to have said that it had been the first time would have been a lie, but none of them had been this intense.

Her shirt clung to her small frame, strained from the sweat her body had created in reaction to the images in her head. Though, as the instant she had most anticipated finally arrived, her eyes shot open in pure panic and she let out a desperate gasp, gripping the arms of the chair on which she sat.

She panted, her chest rising up and down in response to the conflict between her mind and her body. Where was she and why wasn't he with her? Had it all been a dream?

She looked around in confusion, soon coming to terms that what she had believed had been very real was only the result of her imagination. She was in a trance, dreading the torturing thoughts that she knew were soon going to be bombarding her head.

She was a Christian woman, in a happy and healthy relationship, why was she having those type of dreams? Why now?

Although she hadn't been able to see the face of the man showing appreciation to her exposed body, she _knew_. She very much knew who the stranger making love to her was. And he was truly no stranger.

Or was he now?

Barrett had been right, she'd gotten so far and had had a long journey to recover from having her life thrown off balance the way it had and at the present time, she felt troubled, the most she had ever been in her life.

The thought itself was enough to take her where she knew she'd be better at — her little wonderland, the one in her mind that pushed back the dark and negative ideas that she could encounter and that had shielded her when she had been at her most vulnerable.

But tonight, after that _dream_ , she was struggling. The not-so-happy thinking was just as loud as the one she'd have preferred to focus on. She wondered briefly, when in her life, she had signed up for that terrifying yet thrilling ride she had been embarked on.

Under the obscure moon, she contemplated the horizon and what was left of her life. The time machine was in her hands, her existence flashing through her eyes.

There she was, reminiscing about her earliest memories, the birth of her younger sister, her first bike accident, eating in the kitchen after school on her mama's favorite sunflower tablecloth; she could even remember the smell of dust and coffee bungling her nostrils when, after finishing her homework, she'd venture out in the stables to check on her daddy and help him around the ranch.

She had gone far in her thoughts, jumping from a year to another. And now, she was 32 again, her red locks framing her face — her "Jacked-Up-To-Jesus" hair as she called it, — while her right hand held ever so tightly a small bouquet of flowers.

The memory was vivid, as though it had happened yesterday. She could feel the slight nausea she had felt then as the boat she was standing on swayed graciously, mocking the movements the water was creating.

She loved him, he loved her. And nothing else around them mattered, as the world, she thought, was at their feet. Their hearts beating time to the rhythm of the sunny Tennessean days. She could sense the freedom that was being offered to them, the lightness of their innocent souls floating over their guests' heads.

They held hands, humming a waltz-y tune, this cheerful melody that made them dream of somewhere else. They tasted every second, savoring the moment, everything was nothing but insouciance. And frankly, not a damn was given for life, they believed, belonged to them.

She was getting married, to the man she thought was her soulmate. He had it all and the joy he felt was as big as the grin on her face. She knew deep in her heart that he was the man she wanted to have children with.

But suddenly, she felt alone, without a true home, her heart was melancholy, casting a shadow to her soul. The bouquet in her hands faded as _I do's_ were exchanged, the volume of her hair lessened and the smoothness of her skin made way for delicate wrinkles that she had struggled but learned to love, highlighting the traces of time.

She was no longer on a boat, she was no longer 32. She was in her fifties, laying down on what used to be her grandmother's rocking chair. Her hair was still as vibrant, incandescent, as red as a rose.

It was shorter, flatter and at that very moment, relatively wavy. It had not yet reached the crazy curly state it was naturally and some strands were still straightened from a day prior.

She sighed.

Her features felt heavy, her body felt tense but for a reason she couldn't explain, she enjoyed the indescribable loss of senses she had just experienced.

She was consumed, destroyed and she loved this sensation of puissance and lightness at the same time. She loved how contradictory it was.

One second, she was feeling a certain way and the very next, it was the absolute opposite. She wasn't sure who she was at this moment or where she was going, but she was alive nonetheless — as were everyone she cared about — and she was oh, so grateful.

Slowly, she was beginning to be more aware of her surroundings, the water adjacent to her earlier had been replaced by the spacious porch of her Hampton home and the bouquet in her hands was now a glass of Pinot Noir.

Her small body was covered by her old baby blanket that she used to never spend a day without. Many times before her mother, Helen, had found herself rushing back home simply to give her back the quilt that she'd have accidentally kept with her, knowing how comforting it was for her daughter.

A small breeze was blowing and she welcomed the cool air against her face. It traveled through her hair, like a caress.

She closed her eyes, ignoring the hairs on her arms standing up, there to remind her just how chilly she actually was. Her thumb circled the stem of the glass as her breathing was low and steady. Out of the corner of her eye, a tear slipped and her lips formed a delicate straight line.

"Mom?"

She jumped, startled at the sound of the familiar voice coming from behind her. She hadn't expected him to come by and it wouldn't have taken an expert to figure that out from her reaction.

As discreet as she could possibly be, she wiped at her eyes roughly with her sleeve. The very last thing she wanted was for the young man to see crying.

Much like his dad, he had a tendency to not drop a subject until he had obtained an answer to his interrogations and, perhaps, fussed over her a little more than she'd have liked.

It was never easy for a woman who was of an independent nature like she was, to find herself in a position where she had to give justifications. But she smiled at what he had called her and slightly twisted in her seat to take a good look at him.

She sure did love him and wasn't going to fault him for caring.

Micah advanced towards the redhead and offered her a matching smile. He observed her for a moment before opting to take a seat not too far from her, on the edge of the wood-burning round fireplace that would soon be used again if the temperatures continued to drop.

"Are you all right?" He tried.

He knew that there was, technically, no use in asking her. He assumed that she'd be fast to give him the typical answer she'd give anyone who ever asked her, carrying on to tell him that she was perfectly fine and that there was nothing for him to worry about.

He'd heard the line so many times, he couldn't help but wonder how she expected him — or his father — to genuinely buy that lie.

"Oh, yeah. Yeah." She shook her head, waving her hand around as if to prompt him to drop the subject.

"I'm fine, darlin'." She nodded, looking at him square in the eye so that he'd know — or rather think — she was sincere.

Sure enough, her daddy would have been disappointed if he had been there and watched her attest something that wasn't entirely true while looking at the person in the eyes.

Being the southern gentleman that he was, following the etiquette was something he held extremely dear to his heart and part of it was that one was to never say something they didn't mean and look at the person in front of them in the eye, for looking at someone in such manner was proof or your trustworthiness.

But it wasn't like she could have told him the truth, was it? What truth was that anyway? She hadn't puzzled it out herself.

In fact, she was uncertain as to how she was _truly_ feeling. Nothing was just black or white, more so a mix of different colors at once. Like a rainbow of emotions.

And that dream she had had, it was not something you could share with your son, or any family member.

No, that was a matter for another day. A Lorraine matter.

She needed her best friend, the best friend that _he_ had once been; she needed her advice and to talk it out with someone whom she knew would not judge her. That person was not going to be Micah or anyone that didn't curse and drink the way her auburn friend did.

"Watcha doin' here?" She eventually said, realizing that her silence would be taken as a sign that she wasn't being completely honest.

Giving him her utmost attention, she grew fonder at the idea of not being alone with her thoughts and having a distraction.

"I thought you were—"

The boy cut her off, not there to beat around the bush. A frown made way to his forehead as his words shook her to the core.

"Why is my dad sleeping at our old house?"

* * *

The engine of a passing white truck resonated in the not-so-busy street of a neighborhood he was, admittedly, not too familiar with. It was nearing noon as he crossed the street, taking in his surroundings and enjoying the fresh air of the morning.

It seemed that the people that frequented this side of the city had yet to be on their lunch break or were already seated in the various restaurants scattered all around, somewhat overwhelming him due to the impressively vast and diverse choices they offered.

Playing with the pack of matches in his hand, he looked up once he'd made it to the other side of the road.

There, in a neat black frontage was sited the elegant bar that Victoria seemed to have been an avid customer of.

Just like the item in between his thumb and index finger showed, the writing was white, in capital letters and spaced out. He had to give it to the owners and designers, it looked inviting and as though it was a place worth checking.

Soon, he entered the bar that raised his curiosity so intensively. He was uncertain as to what he was hoping to find or if being there would send him on a new path that could incriminate the real responsible behind the young woman's death.

But it was a couple of minutes of his life — or hours, if you didn't count the time it'd taken him to get there — that he was willing to lose. He'd gotten nothing better to do anyway, having no job to attend to and no family member to visit.

And, if he could busy his mind and not have to sit in his hotel room, flooded with his memories, it was all the more worth it.

Pushing the door closed behind him, his eyes immediately proceeded to scan the room. Reflective to the outside image the venue was trying to convey, the inside looked just as you'd expect. There were big burgundy chesterfield sofas in the lounging area where a couple of people were toasting to something.

He was greeted by the sound of a song he'd never heard before, very modern and lively but not to the point where it'd make you want to get on your feet and dance. It wouldn't have been appropriate for that type of place.

He ventured down the long path that led to the counter, passing past tables that were separated and encompassed by brown padded refined boards. The bar even held a library full of classic books, across the dining space.

It only further confirmed that Victoria, knowing her background the way he did now, would have never went to such a fancy spot in the city on her own. She had to have been meeting clients there, he was increasingly growing positive of that.

"Hello!" He addressed to a woman he walked past, coming from the opposite direction.

She was wearing a grey sequin dress, that cascaded down her body and ended to her knees and had a black choker around her neck that matched the small black jacket she had on; he assumed that she was working there.

He had set his sights on being as friendly as he could possibly be, especially if he wanted to gather informations. All the employees could be of a gargantuan help and he was not about to miss that chance.

The smiling woman had disappeared and he was now focused on a man he knew for sure was a waiter. His outfit indicated as such for he wore black trousers, a white long sleeved shirt accompanied by a black tie. He was cleaning around the counter and quickly glanced at the possible customer who'd only now entered the premises.

He then spotted another waiter, preparing a coffee at the end of the counter and was happy to see that he'd have a few people to speak to and question.

True to himself, Brandon was too immersed in the mission he'd appointed for himself that he had failed to notice the woman sitting with her legs crossed at the very same wooden counter he was walking past and who looked at him with full interest.

She flashed him a charming smile, openly flirting with the man, a look of carnal candor gracing her features. Was she an escort, like Victoria?

Paired with a much-practiced hair toss, her eyes traveled over him as he sauntered to a stool only mere feet away. He felt himself being watched and turned around to find the woman holding a glass and shifting in her seat, head movements following, in an undeniable aim to grasp his attention.

She seductively took a sip of her near empty drink, looking as though she was expecting him to slide next to her and offer to buy her a new drink.

Assuredly, he did none of that and her act was dropped just as fast as it had started, her focus relocating elsewhere when Brandon sat down and didn't as much as glance twice in her direction.

Instead, his gaze landed on the row of matches that were displayed on the counter, near the drink dispenser and not too far away from the waiter who was busy removing any stickiness from potential spilled drinks with his wet cloth.

He carefully retrieved a pack and examined it, noting that it was identical to the several ones he'd found at Victoria Reyes' apartment. He'd had time to look at them and he didn't know exactly why he was looking at it so longingly and stopped to reach for a cigarette in his pocket.

Pulling a single one from his pocket, he supported it in between his index and middle finger while he opened the tiny box in his other hand and stroke a match which he used to light his poison. The light of the fire illuminated his face fleetingly and he extended his arm to the side to shake the matchstick and smother it. A cloud of smoke engulfed him as he took a drag and inhaled, turning back to face the waiter.

"Do you have a—" He began but soon found himself being interrupted by the puzzled expression of the employee behind the counter.

His eyes widened, engraved with bewilderment and he stared at him in pure disbelief.

"Excuse me? What are you doing?"

It was Brandon's turn to return the perplexed look, his eyebrow shooting up and his head tilting. His cigarette laid comfortably in between his lips as he spoke, waiting to be consumed.

"Sorry, what?"

"That means you're in a strict non-smoking property." He explained calmly.

He was young and looked clueless, more than the lawbreaker himself did and for a second, he doubted that he'd manage to extort anything interesting from him.

"In a bar?" Brandon laughed, visibly taken aback by what he had just been told.

Bars were no longer a place where you could smoke until your lungs gave out? What was next? Could you even still order alcohol here?

That was one of the many downsides to being stuck in an era that was no more, when he had habits that were proper to those times. And as they said, old habits were hard to get rid of. Even more so when you happened to be as stubborn as he was.

He'd developed the tobacco addiction at work, most of the time carburizing through the help of coffee and cigarettes. With the profession he had and the stressful situations he was exposed to on a daily basis, he'd began using it to calm his nerves and sometimes even as a meal replacement.

Unfortunately, a twenty-year coma had not been enough to stop it and it seemed that nobody in New York was willing to help, if judged by the tense events he had been confronted with recently.

"Well, of course." The waiter retorted with contempt, almost as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and the customer in front of him was an alien debarking, unwelcome, on his planet.

Brandon clicked his tongue in exasperation but respected the rule nonetheless and distanced the cigarette from his mouth, handing it to the waiting man with the cloth.

"Sorry." He mumbled an apology.

What a waste of a cigarette that had been! The waiter took it and went to crush it before throwing it in the trash just below him.

No longer in the mood to partake in the financial success of the bar, the ex-FBI agent pushed the pack of matches away from him and searched for something in his jacket as the younger man grabbed the used matchstick and gave it the same treatment that he had just given the unfinished smoke.

"So." The middle-aged pushed a picture before him, of the victim whose death had been keeping him restless for a few days now.

"I'm goin' to cut straight to the chase." He added. "Police. Do you know this woman?"

The server glanced at the picture, thinking about the irony of a law enforcer breaking the rules when he was in charge of making sure they were respected and internally scoffed at how he must have been thinking he had all the rights.

He, however, didn't ask for his police badge and leaned closer to take a closer look at the blonde woman before grimacing and shaking his head no, preparing to return to his work.

"I don't think so — maybe. It's possible." He shrugged, his attitude a proof that he couldn't have cared less.

"You either know or you don't." Brandon insisted, his forearms over the counter as he was almost scrunched and studying the now taller man across from him.

He was surprisingly patient and awaited any new information he could perhaps receive.

The other man lowered his eyes and stayed silent. Was he too scared to speak? He could tell he had suddenly tensed up and opted for a different tactic. In a more friendly tone, he pursued.

"Listen, I'm not part of the Drugs Squad, I don't care about what she did in her life, okay? On the other hand, she was murdered a few nights ago, so I'm gonna ask you — and I won't ask twice —, focus."

His eyes remained on him, showing the seriousness of the ordeal and tapped on the picture, silently urging him to look at it again and pay close attention.

He was silent for a brief moment whilst he weighed for the pros and cons in telling him what he did know.

At long last, he licked his lips and leaned closer to his interlocutor, lowering himself on the counter.

"There was a man who called... this morning." He confessed, speaking in a low voice so that the other customers wouldn't hear.

"What did he want?"

"He wanted to know if we had found the bag or the wallet of that girl. She was kind of a regular here."

Brandon looked down and slid the picture back towards him, putting it back into his pocket.

"Was that the case?"

"Not that I know of." The waiter said, one hand over the coffee maker as his lifted his finger with his free one as a silent way to tell the policeman to wait.

"However, he gave us his phone number." He turned around and seized a white piece of paper on which he had written the mysterious guy's details. He gave it to him and the latter didn't waste time to observe it, thinking for a second about what to do next.

An idea instantaneously hit him and he once again tapped the counter to emphasize that. The waiter watched him curiously as he turned the paper around and moved it back in his direction.

"Call him and tell him you just found the bag." He instructed, relaxing back against the stool and giving the employee a look that told him he wouldn't budge until he did so.

He nodded and went to turn on his heel to execute the task but spun back around.

"Uh, okay but what do I do when he gets here? 'cause, well, I don't have that bag." He scoffed and took a hold of the phone at the same spot where he had kept the piece of paper with the caller's number.

At his question, Brandon rolled his eyes and jumped off his seat.

Standing tall, back straightened, he searched the room until his eyes landed on a group of women, seemingly enjoying themselves at a table by his left. He smiled and made his way towards them.

"Hello, ladies!" He greeted cheerfully.

A brunette was the first to acknowledge him but her friends followed suit and instantly, all eyes were on him. They flashed him warm smiles, nodding their heads towards him, greeting him back.

"Police. I'd need to borrow one of your bags for an investigation. I'll give it back to you afterwards, of course. If you don't mind?"

The dark-haired woman glided the black leather bag on the free side of the table towards him, giving him another smile to let him know that it was okay for him to take.

He didn't waste time and took possession of it before any of them had time to process it. He then went back up the counter where the waiter still stood and threw the purse onto the wooden shining surface.

"Now you have it." He announced monotonously. "Go!"

The impressionable young man almost grinned.

 _"Too cool!"_ He muttered to himself, his view on the policeman changing; now finding him to be rather badass.

After the server had called the stranger and had gotten him to agree to come to the bar within the next hour, to retrieve Victoria's purse, Brandon ordered a mango-passion-fruit drink which, at one point, had been something he had deeply enjoyed and nervously waited for the man to show himself.

He wasn't sure who he would be dealing with and who that man in question was nor if he was on the right track but one thing he knew for certain was that he was not going to leave that place until he had spoken to the caller.

After all, a woman had just lost her life and he was enquiring about her personal belongings, he had to know something. He wasn't crazy, was he? It _was_ suspect.

And if he didn't know, somebody he worked with did. There was no way they'd have asked about Victoria if they hadn't been looking for clues like himself had been, or, on the contrary, if they weren't hoping to destroy them.

It didn't take long before the unknown man arrived. He was an average caucasian Joe, not one that could have easily stood out in a crowd.

He looked like so many men across the world did and Brandon's first impression was that he could have one day passed him by and not paid him any attention. He wasn't ugly but he wasn't handsome either.

Relatively tall and clean-shaven, he had short light brown-hair and green eyes and wore a suede jacket paired with a simple pair of jeans and nothing about him screamed that he had killed a single mother or orchestrated her death.

The ex-FBI agent watched him from outside of the bar, hidden in the corner, back almost touching the wall as he stood, waiting for his prey to exit.

He had no particular plan in mind, except to follow him and see where that'd lead him. He wanted to affront him but for that, he needed for them to be alone and out of the public eye.

His patience soon paid off as the suspected walked out of the bar, holding the leather bag exactly as Brandon had hoped. He held his breath, preparing himself mentally and physically for their confrontation, all the while trying to look as casual as possible.

His hands were laced in front of him and he followed his trajectory from the corner of his eye. When he saw him cross the street, he urgently followed by him, keeping his distance nonetheless as to not make it too obvious.

He couldn't let him traipse off and leave his sight for he had promised to hand the bag back to the lady and he was never one to break a promise.

He caught up to him fast enough, acting as though he was a regular pedestrian and came to a stop beside him when they reached a point in the street with a red light. Cars and taxis were driving past them, showing a busier side of the neighborhood than the one that had saluted him earlier on.

The other man looked relaxed, not at all appearing to be in a hurry to get somewhere or afraid to be getting caught by anyone. That alone was questionable but if there was one thing he was well aware of was that most murderers were very good at conceding not only the truth but their feelings.

Some of them were unreadable. It was part of the frightening beauty of the human psychology.

Brandon remained natural, moved his hands to his hips and pushed his shoulders back, taking advantage to crack his back as he looked to the side.

The guy looked at him as he did so, more so out of curiosity to see who was standing beside him but thought nothing of it. It was an ordinary scene between two strangers in the street.

They weren't too far from a bank and he paused to think about withdrawing cash but dismissed the idea almost as quickly as he'd had it. Brandon caught the sudden pensive look on his face and wondered what he could've been thinking about.

He didn't get the chance to even do as such as guess, that the light turned green and the individual on his left resumed his walk. He followed his pattern and began to walk a little slower as to not raise suspicions.

After walking for approximately five minutes, he saw the caller take out his keys and press on a button which made the headlights of his car light up, followed by the sound that announced that it was now unlocked.

In a hurry, Brandon charged at him unexpectedly, having come out from out of nowhere and grabbed the stranger from behind as he had just thrown his keys back in his pocket and was in the mist of opening the driver door.

Skillfully, he pinned him against the back of his car, twisting his arm behind him and holding him by the collar.

The man's cheek was crushed against the window of his own vehicle and when his mind processed what was currently unfolding, he began to wrestle.

"Stopping you right there, buddy. Don't move." The old agent spoke in a stentorian angered tone.

"Victoria Reyes, does the name sound familiar to ya?"

The captured gasped from the pain in his shoulder and frowned upon hearing his question. He inclined his head to try and look at the man that seemed to want to settle accounts with him.

"Who in the hell are you?"

"I'm the one who asks questions." He growled, pressing his knuckle further against the back of his neck.

He then shook him and pushed him further, his body almost making one with the car from the way Brandon was keeping him.

"Why did you want her bag? And I told you to stop fucking moving!"

He let go of his arm but kept a firm grip on his collar, his free hand flying to his back and then his back pocket, a normal procedure to check whether or not the presumed bandit was armed.

He lifted his jacket and chuckled when his eyes found the gun nestled in his jeans. He took a hold of it, raising it until it was right in front of him and rested it on its side against the now more that suspicious man's back.

It was heavy and he could tell it was loaded.

"Oh, but that's not very nice." He mocked, his voice dripping with honey.

Taking advantage of having gotten his arm back, the man with the bag pushed himself off the car, just enough so that his face couldn't make contact with it anymore and his chest no longer touched the wiper that dug through his clothes and rather pained him.

He turned to look at Brandon.

"You're making a very big mistake." He sounded serious, imperturbable.

"That's what everybody's been telling me since I was a kid."

Why, were his little friends going to go after him? Threats were no longer something that impressed him.

He near-about shoved his face towards the mysterious guy, his neck vein sticking out from the anger he felt and pushed him again.

"So, Victoria? Hurry up!"

"Look in the pocket — in my back pocket." He repeated, breathless.

Narrowing his eyes, he did as he was told and spotted the item that he assumed was what the other man was referring to.

He took it out of his pocket, slowly, and then held open the card holder.

His blood ran cold and he had to subdue a gasp of his own.

There, in his hand was a badge of police and an identification card with his photograph, name, a code and _'Police'_ written at the top, as well as the department in which he belonged.

"Yeah. I'm a cop, asshole!" He flashed him a smug smile and instantly, Brandon released his grasp on him.

The policeman stepped away, rolling his shoulder and straightened his jacket while the old agent looked down at the badge still in his hands and then back at the man facing him.

Naturally, he seemed unamused as he breathed heavily and was handed back the badge that rightfully belonged to him.

"My mistake."

It was the only thing he could say as he gulped.

* * *

Determination was marked with each eager step Conran took. He passed several of his colleagues, fighting the urge to push some of them out of his way as he headed straight to his office.

To say that he was angry was putting it very lightly. How could his friend have been so careless? There was so little he would be able to do for him, regardless of how many strong excuses he could use to defend his behavior, if he kept acting this way.

Higher forces weren't so keen on being kind and had difficulties giving people free passes to commit infractions, even despite having a past or having dealt with situations that justified their actions.

And it became all the more unmanageable when the people involved worked for a different branch than his own.

He was only the Boss for this department and had little power over the ones that he wasn't appointed to supervise.

If somebody wanted to send a complaint about one of his friends, or anybody working under him, there wasn't much he could do to stop them. Especially not when they had every reason and were well within their right.

Not only would it not be professional but he couldn't reprimand them or use his authority to influence them to change their mind.

No, what had happened was unacceptable and would not be tolerated again.

He made a left and hastily reached for the doorknob of the first door on his right, his face coming close to the gloriously perched silver plaque that indicated his name below the title _'Captain'_.

In a split second, he had entered the room and closed the door behind him, the impact of the force he'd used to push it open resounded in the atypically quiet police station.

"First you invite yourself on a crime scene, then you handcuff my lieutenant and _now_ you choose to hurt a colleague?" He called out in an elevated voice, like subdued thunder to a sitting Brandon who had been waiting for him in his office.

As he'd expected, his friend was situated in a jaunty fashion, as though he had no care in the world and dared he believe his eyes in his aggravated state, he almost looked comfortable.

His legs were crossed and his back and head were leaning against the back of the chair, opposite of the one Conran quickly proceeded to push, in order to take a sit himself, behind his desk.

Upon hearing the voice of his old partner breaking his peaceful silence, he perfunctory opened one eye first and the second followed merely a second or two later.

He was waiting for Conran to finish lashing out before saying anything — not that he had anything to say.

To him, he'd done nothing wrong.

How had he been supposed to know that the suspicious man who wanted Victoria's bag was, in fact, a policeman?

The Captain sat down and blew his breath, watching the brown-haired man in front of him with curiosity.

He was trying to remain calm and forced himself to keep in mind that it would be wiser not to add more to Brandon's plate or do anything that could trigger him.

"I didn't wake up from a 20-year-coma to be sentenced to 30 years of hoosegow, Conran." He stated firmly, showing that he wasn't going to let his reproaches or anybody else's get him down.

His hand moved as he spoke, gesticulating the cigarette in between his fingers for emphasis.

"Fair Enough." Conran pulled at his jacket and let out a heavy sigh.

His tongue clicked and he conceded, his body language showing that he was regaining composure.

"I know it's not your fault, Bran. But you're putting me in deep trouble, here." The older man reminded him.

Finally, like a scolded child who had just now realized that his actions had had worse consequences than he'd ever taken the time to consider, Brandon looked down at his lap, his fingers going over his mouth and beard, lightly stroking it as he thought for a second. The smoke coming from his cigarette flowed east, coating the office with its overpowering smell.

"How can you expect me to defend you if you behave like this?" Conran added, tranquilizing, eliciting only a nod from the concerned as he prepared to take a long drag of the toxic poison.

"And put out this fucking cigarette, you can't smoke in public spaces, dammit!" He muttered, feeling his temper rise up again over his friend's passivity.

In a swift motion, he rummaged through his drawer to take out an ashtray and Brandon stared at it in faint surprise, refraining himself from asking the other man why he was keeping one if it was no longer allowed but chose against it, having not come all the way here to fight.

There, he remembered what he'd been told back at the hospital and how smoking had been banned for a few years now, but as it had been something he hadn't liked to hear, it had completely slipped off his mind.

Stubbornly, he took a puff before scoffing, half amusedly.

At that, the Captain couldn't help but also emit a sneer, followed by an eye roll. He waved a dismissive hand, a near imperceptive smile edging on the corner of his lips.

Almost like he had been put on slow motion, the ex-FBI agent inclined towards the large mahogany desk and crushed the end of his cigarette against the metal ashtray he had been given. He watched it slowly fall apart in between his hand while his mind was preoccupied with something else.

There was a silence between the two men, none of them speaking for what felt like quite some time.

Eventually, Brandon was the first to speak again, once he'd gathered his thoughts.

"What's the link between that cop and Victoria?" He questioned, raising an eyebrow and looking straight ahead at his friend whom only sighed in response and looked away.

He was about to cross his arms over his chest but what escaped Brandon's mouth was enough to stop him mid-action.

"If you don't give me the informations, I'll go get 'em myself, you know me." He pushed himself away from the desk, resuming his initial position in the leather chair.

His eyes were defiant and impermeability in his voice could have been detected once more.

"So?"

Conran's hazel eyes met Brandon's as he considered the younger man's ultimatum.

"Higgins work for the Fraud Squad. And Victoria had in her clientele guys in high places. There." He retorted, as if to say _'now you know'_.

"She was his fink?" His eyes widened from the unexpected news.

The Captain nodded.

How did a woman like her end up becoming some sort of spy? Had money really been that much of an issue that she had felt like that was the only way out? Had she once envisaged the possibility that it could be dangerous? That it could be too big for her to handle?

"Who was she tipping him off about?"

"Half a dozen bankers, businessmen..." He trailed off. "Higgins gave us their identity."

Brandon breathed, pausing to analyse the new details he had so confidentially been given.

"Could one of them have learned about Victoria?"

"It's possible." Conran sighed. "We're currently investigating them."

He had barely had time to finish his sentence that the unstoppable brown-haired man had risen to his feet, pushing the chair he had previously occupied backwards.

He took a step closer to the desk and extended his arm, perfectly demonstrating that he was waiting to be handed whatever file his old partner had in his possession.

"Give me their names." He practically ordered.

When he received none of the quick reaction he was hoping to get, he suppressed a huff impatiently and clicked his fingers to press the sitting man further.

"Don't push it, Bran." He warned him, not moving a finger.

Gradually, his arm fell back down to his side and his jaw contracted in irritation and disappointment.

Was he supposed to simply sit around and wait?

Defeated, a sigh rolled out of his chest and he pushed his hands down on the desk, leaning against them while bowing his head.

Conran could tell that it was his way to blow off some steam and he softened momentarily.

"Go home and behave yourself before you get locked up." His tone resembled more the one of a caring friend than a law enforcer for which Brandon was appreciative.

While he was unable to deny just how stubborn he could be at times, he knew that the latter was right in more way than one and that there was no point in arguing.

He'd done enough for now.

"Okay." He responded simply, lifting his head up to fix the other man's glance.

Then, he flashed him a fake smile that quickly faded into one bitter moue.

The Captain had known Brandon enough in the past to know that he was resenting him for his lack of compliance but he'd only have to accept it for his own good.

Without as much as another word from either men, he watched his old partner expeditiously walk to the door in his leather jacket.

But as he swung the door open, he couldn't help but interpellate him, fully aware of how touchy the subject had become, while also keeping in mind that it couldn't be avoided ad infinitum.

"Have you called Ariel?"

His question grazed his ears and he faltered.

He came to an halt, frozen until what had been asked registered upon him. Taking his time to turn around, he threw a furtive look at the man behind the imposing desk and almost chuckled at the suggestion.

"To tell her what?" He asked back, his voice laced with a sudden melancholy.

He scrutinized Conran for several seconds before turning on his heel and shutting the door behind him.

Left alone in his office, the guilt that had nibbled at the Captain for the past twenty years seemed more pronounced than ever before.

* * *

Writing had always been a fun and easy activity he liked to entertain in his spare time. It was a relaxing escape, an exercise that was not only therapeutic but helped him communicate what he couldn't say out loud.

Discussing his feelings, on the other hand, had, for him, been a little trickier.

But thankfully, music was there to simplify the task. What he couldn't say in a simple journal entry, he'd write as a song. This format somehow worked better for him.

He hadn't written anything in so long, of course. Perhaps it was the reason behind his struggle. That and his tired brain had had a lot to process during the week that had followed his release from the hospital.

He'd written during his stay, it helped make the long days he had ahead of him seem a little shorter, if only.

The notebook Babu — the nurse that had taken care of him — had given him was filled with all sorts of things, from poems to songs and even sketches. It had also been part of his therapy and healing process.

He'd been assigned to write about his memories, the thoughts that consumed him, the things that made him happy and made him want to fight. The first page showed a difficult to read handwriting, the one of a man who hadn't held a pen in twenty years.

It had, however, showed that his brain was functioning and that he was still able to move his hand, write and gather coherent thoughts and sentences, not just out loud but on paper as well.

Going through the said notebook would have showed just how far he had come. The texts that filled it, as the weeks and months passed had grown to become more positive, less melancholic and filled with hope and newfound strength— a major difference from the ones he'd first composed.

Today, reality was different.

He'd come so far and while nothing was as he'd have imaged, he acknowledged that, despite everything, he was still a lucky man.

The notebook was open in front of him, on an entry infused with lyrics he'd came up with for a song inspired by his muse, the one person that gave meaning and brought his creations to life.

Though he had kept _that_ page intact, the amount of papers rolled into balls that he'd thrown across the room in frustration told a contrasting story.

He had been trying to re-write the song (that he deemed wasn't good enough) for hours now. After Conran's warning in his office and his faux-pas with the policeman, his perspective had shifted.

Maybe he was more out-of-touch than he was willing to admit.

Maybe what he had once been very good at, being able to trust his instincts and know when something was odd in a case had gone away somewhere around the time he'd been shot. Maybe that wasn't supposed to be part of his new life.

After all, hadn't it been the exact reason he had to start over again? So retrieving to something else he knew he wasn't too bad at, an hobby that had made him happy more times than he could recount seemed like a good thing to do, on this late gloomy weekday.

There was nothing else he could do either. He was in no mood to head to bars and socializing was not his top priority. It'd do him good but there was so much he had to discover about himself first, to come to terms with that he felt as though he wouldn't be a great company to have.

In order to understand people, he had to understand life around him a minimum and he wasn't quite there yet.

It was too soon.

Surrounded by dozens of ripped pieces of paper, all full of ink and crossed-out words, he stabilized his guitar that sat over his lap and on which his arm led upon.

He was frustrated; the wording was off and the lyrics weren't quite working out for him.

On top of that, he was battling a serious issue: he couldn't find a melody to go along with what he'd written. He sighed, part of him starting to come to terms with the fact that he had yet another unfinished song on his hands and he could only close his eyes as an attempt to calm down and concentrate.

Instantly, his mind wandered back to the woman it was about — that _everything_ was about.

He loosened at the sight of her. Oh, the way her lips curved when she offered him her signature smile, how blissful she looked to be around him and he almost heard her southern drawl, telling him not to give up.

The voice was so distinct, he could have sworn she was in the room with him.

For reasons he knew were evident, that was all it took for him to open his eyes wide, as if he'd just had a revelation. His hand shook and he hastened to grab the pen in front of him, to write down something quickly.

In minutes, he'd changed everything.

Some lines were removed completely, some only vaguely tweaked and the overall flow of his song had improved. He wasn't quite where he wanted to be, nowhere near having mastered it and there was no doubt he hadn't written a hit but he was satisfied.

He finally felt the way he had when he'd finished his last workout at the hospital. That feeling of gratification and pride he had so dearly missed. For his perfectionist self, it was rare but he'd learned to appreciate small victories, such as this one.

Strumming his guitar, he let his fingers create something beautiful, granting them the freedom to have a mind of their own, for they seemed to be fueled by inspiration. Was he coming up with a melody, at last?

Brandon's eyes scanned the yellow paper, reading over his own handwriting, trying to decipher it as he'd been so focused in hurrying to get his emerging thoughts down, to care about anything being readable at all, even to himself.

But, after figuring it out, he began to quietly hum, his hand not once leaving the instrument, getting lost in his own safer world.

Notes full of lightness and softness flooded the room whilst rough fingers, endowed with small nicks and scars, yet so strong and flexible, played exhaustingly; tentatively trying to play the tender song of a melody he'd just composed, giving free rein to his imagination and liberty to his tired hands to sway gracefully over the strings of the instrument.

A wrong note was soon heard, forcing the man in the grey shirt to let appear a little grimace of disapproval on his suave face; however continuing his activity, not letting this minor error stop him in his great creative upsurge.

His lips parted, gently shaking as he let escape an almost inaudible sound, whispering to himself a little tune, accompanying the music he had produced.

Satisfied or unsatisfied with the result, even himself wasn't entirely sure but as the rhythm of the chorus accelerated, his fingers began to dance remarkably on the guitar, as if his flesh and the _c, d, e, f, g_ 's were only one.

The sound, as for it, pleasing to the ear would have given anyone who had been in the room, the compelling desire to swirl and sing along, much to their heart's content.

The rejoicing that caused this wheedling melody slipped into the imposing man's body, spreading throughout his veins. The stringed instrument, balancing horizontally on his lap, looked like an elegant creature that was brought to life through the slender fingers of the musician.

At this time of his life, being able to give life to an object as beautifully, always remained an incredible experience.

 _Why? Because your eyes are smoldering over New York and time._

 _Because of the cold through your hair and the snow melting on your gloves._

 _Because you have ten fingers and a soul and you aren't afraid to use it._

 _So, when you had to choose a weapon, you chose only a smile._

 _Because you laugh, because you cry, because you cry from time to time._

 _Because comforting you is like transitioning from winter to spring._

 _Because winters are killing you, which leaves you to die in my arms._

 _Now my kisses resurrect you and you're reborn under the sheets._

 _Because you make yourself beautiful, even if, for me, you have nothing to change._

 _Because this dress only suits you and all I can think about is takin' it off you._

 _Because you're so good at pretending, that you'd think that you need me._

 _And if you're not pretending, don't be afraid, I'll be yours._

 _Oh, this kind of love makes us so stupid. It makes you beautiful, makes me so strong._

 _Because with you, I'm so warm while it's so damn cold outside._

 _Because you run when everyone walks and I see you yell at silences._

 _When you sit at the top of the steps and you ask me "what are you thinkin' about?", before you ask me "why do you love me?"_

 _Because of your complicated questions; "how long does the passing time lasts?", "who taught you how to breathe?"_

 _Because we'll go so far away, that we'll always jump in the puddles._

 _And you will always want to dance, even if we both have stage fright._

 _Because I will always have in me this fear of losing you over nothing._

 _Because of your hands and your ten fingers, because of your ten fingers in my hands._

 _Here, I love you for all those reasons or maybe because of no reason at all._

 _Because madness is a right and I have the right to be crazy._

 _Because the noise suddenly stopped._

 _And by putting a hand on my cheek, with that charming smile of yours,_

 _You put New York and me... at your small feet._

As he played the last note, his voice slowly faded and quickly became nothing but a murmur while the guitar overpowered it, until his upper lip touched his lower one and he fell completely silent.

He'd just written a song, one that had driven him crazy more than once and it had been a process, but in a way, it reminded him even more of _her_.

She had too — and countless times — made him want to pull his hair and scream.

Still, the love he held for her prevailed and allowed his frustration to dissipate. Both the song and the woman were worth it, for their beauty were out of this world.

How lucky had he once been? Having by his side, somebody who was larger than life itself?

He caught himself smiling at the thought and bent over to close the notebook that had been mistreated all evening long.

It was enough for today and he was growing increasingly hungry.

Brandon took a hold of his guitar and placed it against the foot of the table, making sure that it wouldn't slip and suffer any damage.

The guitar was old now and fragile, Conran had had the great idea to bring it to him as a mean to keep him occupied and to bring him the sense of familiarity without risking to provoke anything in him to resurface — painful memories, or rather, great memories that he painfully had to accept were just that, memories and nothing else.

It had been a safe gift from his past, as simple as that.

And, as much as their latest discussion hadn't been one he'd classify as his favorite, he was grateful for their friendship. He'd have done the same, had it been the other way around but it was nice to see it done anyway.

Oftentimes, relationships and friendships were unbalanced, one side always loved more but with them, it had never been the case.

Folding his hands together over his legs, he sighed and looked up at the dusty clock on the wall. He'd scarcely had time to read what it signaled when he heard a knock on the door.

Far from expecting company, it made him raise an eyebrow, a skeptical look plastered on his face.

Who could possibly be coming over at this time of day? It was well past nine in the evening and he doubted that either Conran or Higgins, the policeman he'd had the altercation with earlier would be paying him a visit, especially so soon.

Could it be the owner of the place, wanting to deliver news to him, to inform him about something?

There was only one way to find out.

He sprung to his feet and made his way to the entrance of his hotel room, not rushing whatsoever.

Soon, he opened the door and came face-to-face with the red-headed woman he'd just been thinking about.


	11. Chapter 11

When their gazes met, they both froze, static, staring at one another so intensely, they could've respectively read right through each other's soul if they'd attempted to.

He hadn't expected her here, of all places. Not after the last conversation they'd had. It wasn't that it had been unpleasant but it had revealed a reality he hadn't yet been able to come to terms with and that he was still struggling to absorb. And now that she stood at his doorstep, in front of him, he wasn't certain what to do.

What was he supposed to say to her? There was so much and still, ironically, he found himself going speechless. To him, she had only ever been his wife, even before they had wed because he knew, deep in his heart, that they'd wind up together at some point in their lives.

Unfortunately, life had made their paths take different courses and looking at her, the way he always had with this touching sincerity and those eyes that reflected his love for her, he almost felt like he had lost that right. That it wasn't his look to give any more; which he hated, in ways that couldn't possibly be described.

He didn't want it to hurt, for their encounters to be nothing but the epitome of awkwardness when, once upon a time, they were most themselves in the company of one another.

But here she was, looking like an outsider with her black cowboy boots and her matching fringed faux-leather jacket and remaining indifferent was simply a task he couldn't do.

She'd accepted to give up on her peaceful life in the South to come and live with him in The Big Apple, but trading her style to accommodate to the standards of one of the biggest fashion cities was something she had never considered and he still loved that about her, twenty-five years later.

Everything was different and very much felt so but a lot still remained, she still looked like the woman he'd fallen in love with. How was he presumed to move on when the mere sight of her took him back to the happiest years of his life?

What was he supposed to say to the person that had once meant the most to him but was now a drifting stranger with memories? He wanted, needed a reminder that it had all been real and wasn't just the fragment of his imagination, he wanted proof that they had lived, laughed and loved once.

"H—hey." Ariel was the first to sever the silence, speaking in just above a whisper as she nervously played with her hands.

Soon, she broke their eye contact, second-guessing her decision to have driven to his motel room, especially so soon after having the dream that had kept her awake for several nights in a row now.

It was recurrent, torturous and made facing Brandon all the more difficult. In her subconscious, his mouth and hands had traveled, tasted her body, exploring it with particular attention and from then on, if she wanted to be able to behave properly around the man, she was to pretend that what had felt so lively had never — not even once — happened.

"Hey..." Brandon replied simply, twisting the handle on which his hand was positioned.

Of course he was happy to see her, in spite of everything but he did his best to conceal it, more so out of pride than anything else. He leaned against the doorframe, presenting her the faintest of smiles.

"Conran called me," She proceeded to tell him.

She assumed that he was expecting some sort of explanation as to why she was here and if she had to be honest, she wasn't sure she had any that justified her presence. Her voice was only above a murmur and her southern accent even more detectable than normal.

In the past, her voice had been one of the most soothing sounds his ears had been graced with, it always provided comfort and made him feel as though everything would be okay, regardless of the current circumstances. It felt like a warm embrace that enveloped him. Perhaps it was due to the incredible optimism that said voice belonged to but now, he feared that it'd become one that never provided a good presage.

After all, he doubted that she had come at this time of day just to share a beer with him or to fall back into their old antics.

"It's late, I know." She pursued, shyly.

That was a side of Ariel he wasn't used to seeing. She was an extrovert, the life of the party. She never renounced from an opportunity to be the center of attention, but not so much in a pejorative way, she was simply a great entertainer and knew how to keep people interested. She wasn't loud nor imposing but quiet couldn't have been the best adjective to define her.

She always spoke with an advanced confidence and hated to admit when she was wrong. During their marriage, he'd found himself judging her candor or how hard she was trying to make things right by the time it took her to swallow her pride. When she did, he knew she was meaning every word she was saying.

The former agent nodded, keeping his mouth shut, almost as if he had lost his voice or was waiting on something else from her. She wasn't surprised, of course. She'd expected as much.

"It's midterm season and I had a lot of work to do." She explained her tardiness further, keeping her outside composure but her voice betrayed how she was feeling inside.

An anxious little mess, as nervous as a cat in a dog pound, that's how she felt and she resented it.

"I... I wasn't sure you'd want to see me." She eventually concluded, in an unexpected confession.

It hurt to admit, but it was the truth. She could be confrontational at times, preferring to lay things on the table rather than beating around the bush and it was easy to tell when something was bothering her. Yet, in parallel, she could be a fortress, hard to read, building fences to protect anyone who dared to come too close.

It'd taken him years to make his way through and he was glad, relieved to see that she had chosen this optic, the much more open side to her that facilitated communication just a little bit more.

For once, he had time to thank for that. They'd lost enough of it as it was and playing complicated games was not going to fix anything, anytime soon. What they had been like before the accident was always all or nothing and he still had to keep that in mind.

There was never a good balance. They'd love furiously and fight furiously, finding a middle ground was consistently near impossible back then, how could it not be about the same this time around? If there was something he'd have happily left in the past, it would have been exactly that.

"I'll always be happy to see you, Ariel." Brandon finally came out of his quietness. He was sincere, she could see it on his face and the way he spoke.

"I really was just in the neighborhood and I thought I'd, you know, drop by and see how you were." She sighed, waving her hand around.

She didn't comprehend why she felt the need to elaborate even more, like she had found herself in a place she wasn't supposed to be at and was trying to convince herself that she was, indeed. It wasn't how things were meant to be, not at all.

The redhead tightened her grip on her purse that hung over one of her shoulders, tilting her head to the side to avoid one of her curly strands that were currently held up in a messy French twist to get caught in between the strap of her bag and her jacket. She could feel a migraine threatening to arrive at any time and didn't need anything to worsen it.

"I'm as good as anyone can ever be, I guess." He responded calmly. "Thank you."

Her curse for being so lovely was that she was always a terrible liar, as he was. He could tell she hadn't really come over to check on him, though he knew that, despite everything that had transcended between them, she still wanted to make sure that he was doing okay.

No, there had to have been more than that.

Had he occupied her mind at all, like she had been doing? He didn't want to disrespect her by even considering that she possibly hadn't but she had moved on; if she truly was over him,— as much as you could with someone you had shared a part of your life, had a child with and with whom things had only ended poorly due to forces beyond their control, that is — there was still a slight possibility that he was living a one-sided relationship.

That thought alone was enough to shatter his heart into millions of pieces.

There was an awkward silence, one that the pair coordinately hated. It was heavy, suffocating and increased the already present tension.

It wasn't like this before and never had they imagined that they'd reach a point in their marriage where they'd find themselves in such a position, not knowing what to say to the other and being more at ease with people they didn't know than the other person in front of them.

It was something they thought only happened to others, something they were immune of. It couldn't happen to them, that wasn't possible.

"Can I come in?" She asked, exasperated.

Why was he not offering her to enter his hotel room? Had he been honest with her? Was he really happy to see her? She threw a furtive look over his shoulder, gesturing towards the inside of what he now called his home.

He nodded almost immediately, appearing to have landed back on planet Earth after a brief episode somewhere else.

"Yes, of course." He lifted his arm to his side like he was ready to do a reverence. He motioned for her to go on, stepping out of her way.

"After you."

She looked at him, seeking confirmation and giving him a second to change his mind. Upon getting no sign that he was regretting inviting her in, she walked up to the living area with as much confidence in her step as she could gather.

She moved past an old washed up yellow and red Hawaiian beach towel that was hung on the wall and contemplated the place with attention, just as the creaking of the door closing behind Brandon echoed in the room and corridor.

Ariel ended her march right in the center of the room, her eyes gliding over every single piece of furniture and decoration that she could find.

"That's a nice place. Spacious." She smiled, making small talk.

At least stepping into a new territory was sparkling a conversation topic.

"It must be nice here." She tried, earning a light derisory scoff from her husband.

He'd feel a lot nicer at _home_ , with her. He wanted to tell her that but held back. Even though he had taken a bit of time to react, he didn't want her to leave so soon. First, he wanted to see if they could warm up to one another again.

"Yeah, it's cozy." The brown-haired shrugged. "Does what it's supposed to and it's always nicer than a hospital room." He quipped.

Ariel found no humor in what he had said, though she wished she had. Hearing the word 'hospital' did something to her that sent shivers up her spine.

Her entire being sensed a wave of coldness overtake her and she tensed. She had always hated hospitals and anything that was synonym to accidents, illness or that awoke her fears of losing the ones she loved most.

But never before had the simple mention of it provoked her in such a way. It'd take time before it all went away, she attempted to reassure herself.

As a response, she settled for a simple nod. She wanted to tell him that she'd have happily hosted him, if she could have. If it hadn't been too much of an odd thing to play housemates with her ex-husband and present partner.

She wanted to tell him that she didn't want him to stay in a motel and that she was sorry for not getting to keep their old house. She hadn't had the means to keep it after his coma and even if she'd had, she wasn't sure she could have had the strength to bear staying in it. It held too many memories she didn't want to lose but the pain it also brought was as intense, especially on her worst nights.

Above all, she acknowledged that it was best not to say anything at all. They were both uncertain as to where they stood and the last thing she wanted was to go there, to bring up vexing matters. Not tonight.

It was inevitable, she wasn't completely naive but she wanted to push it as long as she could. She owed it to her mental health, or at least that's what she wanted to believe.

She could feel Brandon's stare on her and it petrified her. He was attempting to read her, like he had once been an expert at.

To calm her nerves, she thought about the technique her therapist had once suggested to her. And there she began, counting from one to ten in her head as she ran a hand over her almost bare face.

She was feeling exactly like she had when she'd first kissed Barrett, the guilt was there and wasn't determined on leaving her. Seeing where he now lived, being there only intensified that horrible feeling in her chest.

If she hadn't moved on, Brandon wouldn't have to be alone here, in what was really not an ideal place to be in for a man that had just lost all of his bearings.

How could she have done this to him? How could she have moved on? She shut her eyes quickly, trying to get rid of the abusive thoughts her mind was coming up with. Knowing she was being watched, she turned to face him properly and decided that she wasn't going to let her guilt consume her and have the upper hand.

She was in charge.

"So, how have you been?" She smiled, fidgeting. She was balancing from one foot to the other, like a child that had to give a presentation in front of the entire classroom and wasn't too comfortable with the concept. How paradoxical, for a teacher such as herself.

But soon, her discomfort was no longer something she could hide, neither was her nervousness. The redheaded woman realized that she'd already asked him that question, right after he had opened the door.

She gestured with her hands and let out a nervous chuckle. "I mean, it has been 10 seconds since I asked. Ha Ha Ha."

It took everything in her not to take her head in her hands and curl up in a ball, in hope of making herself as little as possible. She was so embarrassed and wanted nothing more than to dig a hole where she could hide and disappear. Good God, would she be able to relax?

Brandon walked past her and perceived the awkwardness emanating from his wife. He didn't want to make it worse for her and pretended to busy himself by making his way towards the area that served him as a kitchen.

"Do you want something to drink?" He offered in a low-pitched tone, a mix of huskiness and raspiness in his voice.

While she didn't approve of his smoking habits, she had to admit that they had done something to his voice that had made it more attractive and agreeable to listen to.

"It looks like you could use one." He pressed with a light laugh.

He hoped that it'd help them loosen up and get a normal conversation flowing, as opposed to continuing to make forced small talks.

Unless they couldn't have that anymore, that the talking-until-four-in-the-morning discussions were buried under, much like he had almost been too. He shook his head, not wanting to get himself worked up at the mere thought.

The man stood before his two-tier shelf where a couple of kitchen utensils and bottles sat and reached for two large glasses.

It was her turn to watch him now. She observed the way he carried himself and how his bicep was well-defined through the fabric of his shirt, showing he'd worked hard on getting his old body back.

He looked the same as he did the last time she'd last seen him conscious, twenty years ago. The only difference was that his beard was fuller and shreds of age evidence had surfaced around his eyes and forehead.

"Whatever it is, make it a hard one." She heard herself say, mindlessly and widened her eyes in consternation when, what she'd just uttered, finally dawned on her.

It was quick to remind her of one of the reasons that had made her so indecisive about visiting him. The dream itself would make her cheeks flush but ogling over the man it involved, whose mouth had been on parts of her body she was too prude to mention out loud, all the while she wasn't being completely herself, was certainly not the greatest thing she'd ever done.

"I—I mean the drink." She shook her head violently, almost like it'd empty and free her dirty mind.

She let out another embarrassed laugh, distracting her from enabling that darned dream to come back to her, as though she was watching it on a movie screen.

At that moment, she very much felt like she had lost the remote and was struggling to press pause on it.

 _"Shut up, Ariel."_ She thought to herself.

Brandon froze on the spot as he processed her words. He raised an eyebrow, resisting the urge to make one of his typical jokes and smirked to himself at how innocent that was.

Or so he thought.

"Gotcha." He winked at her.

While he began to make their drinks, he turned his head to look at her. She seemed to be relaxing and he was relieved to see that. Then again, it was Ariel he was dealing with and regardless of how long it would have taken her to calm down, she could tense up again in the bat of an eye.

"Please, have a seat." He instructed as he made his way back towards her, holding two drinks filled with a special strong cocktail he had concocted for them.

Not only would it keep them warm but it would ease their nerves.

"And a _hard_ one for the lady." He reprimanded after she had taken a seat as per his suggestion and set her glass in front of her.

He figured there was no harm in teasing her a little, especially if they wanted to fall back into their old ways or a semblance of them.

At that, she narrowed her eyes at him and couldn't stop herself from suppressing a scoff. She crossed her legs, leaning back against the chair but still didn't look as comfortable as she would have on her own one, back home.

Brandon took a seat opposite of her, his hands gripping his glass whilst she stared down at the liquid in hers, that was of the color of his hair, a deep mysterious brown.

She watched it, memorized as she swirled it from a side to another. At last, she broke the silence that was beginning to install for the fifth - tenth time since she'd arrived; she'd lost count by now.

"What have you been up to since..." She trailed off.

She couldn't bring herself to say it. She realized then just how much pain she had bottled up inside that had yet to be externalized. To her advantage, she conceded that he'd know what she meant anyway. She looked away and let her eyes scan the room once more.

She suddenly noticed something she hadn't spotted before. There were several different pieces of scrunched up papers by the feet of the table and at the end of it, a guitar and an half-opened notebook that was prevented from being closed completely by a pen that was slightly sticking out of it.

He'd been writing.

"Tryin' to stay outta trouble." He couldn't help but snicker at the irony.

He wondered if Conran had told her about his misadventures. She had said that he had called her, after all. But if she was aware of them, technically, he hadn't lied. He could have tried to keep himself out of trouble but if he was at home, composing songs, it was because he'd been ordered to do just that.

He was trying.

"And... tryin' to adjust." He shrugged, bringing his glass to his lips and took a small sip.

The burning sensation that he instantly felt made him wince and he let out a pained gasp. It'd been so long since he'd drank alcohol and he was starting, to say the least, quite strongly.

"Adjustin' to... well, everything." He clarified, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "I don't know anything or anybody anymore."

That was a start, wasn't it? They were talking and he was progressively opening up. He'd only had a sip but it seemed that the liquor was already helping. He felt like it was him against the world and he almost told her so but fought back, for he didn't want to be indelicate and hurt her.

For a split second, he envisaged asking her for his mother's phone number. As his state had been undetermined at the time she had been made aware that he had woken up, Ariel and Conran had agreed and deemed it best to protect the aging woman by not revealing too much about her son's well-being and his progress while he was still hospitalized, as to spare her going through the pain she'd already experienced firsthand.

Losing a child was never easy but having her only son fight for his life had been a grueling journey. She hadn't been able to grieve for he wasn't entirely gone, but he wasn't quite with them either. It had taken its toll on her own health and no one wanted to make her relive the heartbreak should anything go wrong and for her to get her hopes up.

But now that he was doing great, on his feet and aware enough to envisage operating a phone, (that were now cordless as he had been surprised to find out) he assumed that it was time to let her know and deliver some positive news to her.

She had been waiting for so long now, she deserved it. He shoved the thought to the back of his mind so that he'd remember to ask her later. Now, for some reason, didn't seem appropriate.

"Trying to stay out of trouble, huh? Like doing what? Gettin' involved in a crime scene that has nothing to do with you?" Ariel interrupted his train-of-thought, taking him aback.

She folded her arms on the table, unsure where her energy was coming from and condemned it on the ardent desire she had to down her entire glass, which she was combatting for the sole reason that she didn't want her husband to question her actions.

"Ah, so Conran told you." He snarled. "I see."

He looked straight at her, searching for a sign of approval or disapproval in her crystal blue eyes. He assumed, of course, that she'd be leaning towards the latter.

"That's why he called you, didn't he?"

"Yes." She breathed out. "But please, before you get mad at him, you have to know he was just trying to help. He thought I could—"

"What?"

The former agent interrupted her, feeling his temper rising as the sensation of having being betrayed by his old friend tasted sour on his tongue.

"Talk me into keeping to myself and minding my own business?"

"Brandon." A frown made way to her forehead, straining the smoothness of her delicate skin.

She paused momentarily, trying to find the right words. Her heart was accelerating again and if the past couple of minutes had been enough of an example, she knew she needed to tread carefully and collect herself before speaking.

"He just... he knew I was waiting for your call and he figured you'd want me to do the first step, that's all." Ariel explained to the best of her ability.

Conran hadn't been bad intentioned. After his encounter with Brandon at his office and having received the answer he had when he'd inquired about his friend's wife, he'd known right away that he'd need to meddle if he wanted the two to talk. And as unpleasant of a topic it could be, it was still something they could use to strike a conversation.

His plan had visibly been executed to perfection as it was exactly what they were doing.

"Right." He puffed his chest, wanting nothing more than to roll his eyes.

Though he loved his friend dearly, Brandon didn't fully believe the innocence of his actions. In fact, he viewed it, in a way, as a violation of his right to take his time to process the sort of news he'd been forced to cope with.

Time wasn't a luxury he could afford but he'd only recently found out that one of his biggest fears had come true and the least he wanted — or expected from the people around him, was for them to respect his need to catch a moment to take it all in stride.

It wasn't his to convince Ariel or anybody else to take the first step. Even if, ultimately, he was glad that she had and it was doing him a favor.

"What are you doing, B? Trying to get back into your old ways and work habits?" He heard her whisper tenderly after a while.

Her hands were laced in front of her and she tilted her head. She looked like a curious puppy who was traipsing into foreignness. The sight of her could have made him smile and appeased him, had the situation — and her question — not also sounded like a reproach.

He knew that she was concerned, he understood as much and it wasn't like her at all to hold grudges or to place blame on anybody. It wasn't what she was doing, of that he was certain but it was clear to him that she was struggling to put herself in his shoes and had little idea about what he was truly going through. It was simply beyond anything she could imagine.

"See, it became my problem when I was one of the last person to see that Victoria woman alive. I bet Conran didn't mention the part where his lieutenant tried to pin this on me and thought I was the one who killed her!" He laughed at how far-fetched and eccentric that entire concept was.

His job was to protect people, to enforce law and make sure that it wasn't broken, he wasn't going to end an innocent person's life, especially a young mother.

"You're supposed to be taking things slow, tryin' to go back to the job that nearly cost you your life is doing kind of the opposite." The redhead frowned.

"What did you think I'd be doing, seriously? I'm not doing anything wrong. Of course I'm gonna be trying to get my old life back. I lost my wife, Juliet's not back yet and doesn't remember me..." He inhaled sharply, trying to ignore the stinginess of his own words.

"So yeah, it'd be nice to have some sort of familiarity back in my life again and my job's the only thing I can have." The former agent explained. "I ain't got much to lose this time 'round."

His Texas accent was stronger, as it always was whenever he was tackling upsetting matters. And it was the truth, after all. He'd lost it all.

Maybe it was selfish of him to put himself in harm's way again, maybe it was even inconsiderate towards the people in his life who'd had to endure the integrality of his coma but when everything he had ever known had been taken away from him, life seemed too dull, especially at his age, to start all over. It was too much and he wasn't sure he had the volition or the strength to do it.

Hearing the word 'wife' escape his lips made her heart skip a beat. She'd once prayed to hear him call her that and then prided herself in being his partner, the same way that she was proud for him being hers.

When he was taken from her, she'd longed to hear the word again and it was getting harder to concede the sadness the situation was bringing her, the peculiar sensation she felt of having him back and yet, not being able to have him in the way she had wished days and nights for, the way it would've been right to as a legally married couple.

It was supposed to be their happy moment, they should've been celebrating, not hurting almost twice as much.

"You might have been the best at it twenty years ago but you're not as qualified anymore, not at the minute, at least." Ariel announced, clearing her throat to prevent it from breaking.

She knew the tears were building up somehow, coming from deep within and she refused for them to fall for, she thought, they'd never stop.

"Give it time or else you're gonna be back to the way you have been." To tell him so was painful and felt like a punch in the gut.

It was the furthest from her intention to be rude to him, to say anything that could bruise him but it was her duty, as someone who cared for him deeply. It was something he needed to hear and keep in mind.

She knew her husband and how stubborn he could be. Although his job required him to pay attention to every detail and go over them with a fine-tooth comb, he was also a master at putting a blind eye when he refused to acknowledge something. That, undoubtedly, was one of his greatest defaults.

Brandon sneered. He was taking her warning surprisingly well. She was right and there was no use arguing with the truth.

"Pity I was so good at it, huh? It'd have been better, _safer_ if I had been say, a musician or a lawyer."

Ariel nodded, scoffing sadly. She reached for her drink and took another sip of it, enjoying the cold liquid rushing through her.

There was a puzzling look on her face and strangely enough, she was now the one that didn't seem to really be there, she didn't look deep in thoughts (although he was positive that she was) but she looked like she was forgetting that she even was in the same room as him.

He tried his hardest to read her expression but besides detecting that she wasn't her normal self, he wasn't able to decipher her the way he would have been able to, all those years ago. It was needless to say that his failure at reading her was another blow to the heart.

"Are you sure you're okay?" He inquired, hesitant about covering her hand with his but, at long last, chose against it.

"I should be the one asking you that." Her response came sooner than he had anticipated, throwing him off just slightly. It was accompanied by a tension he could simply not ignore.

"Please, don't." The brown-haired sighed heavily.

He knew where she was getting at, the real meaning behind her words.

"Let's not bring this up every time we see each other. I see the way you look at me, like you're expectin' me to fall to my death any second." He nearly begged, the lines on his forehead making an apparition once more, showing his seriousness.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, her heart beginning to race which made her mentally cuss — she rarely did, Ariel was almost too respectable to say anything inappropriate out loud. She'd try to minimize 'bad words' as much as she could.

She wasn't her best friend Lorraine, a crazy New Yorker with a foul mouth who swore like a sailor and proudly so. She was more reserved but certain moments in life called for a good old-fashioned curse and right now, was most certainly the case.

"You have to understand what it's been like for me — that it's been my reality for years and years."

"It's been mine too." Brandon exhaled.

"But not the same way." She clarified.

There was no room for lamentation in her life and she seldom wanted pity, even less so self-inflicted one but she wasn't going to apologize for fussing over him, for worrying.

"I'm fine. And I'm very much real, you're not dreaming, Ariel."

He comforted, leaning closer over the table so that she had no choice but to look at him as he spoke. He waited until her gaze met his and showed sign that she had understood him.

Upon receiving the signal that she had, he leaned back against his chair and ruminated about pouring himself another drink as he proceeded to ask the dreaded, fateful question.

"So, how are you and _him_?" He didn't care about his name, he wasn't sure he had been told what it was and even if he had, he wouldn't have taken it upon himself to remember it.

Barrett was an important part of her life but he was his 'replacement' and what would it have changed whether he recalled his name or not? In the end, he was no longer the one sharing her bed. _He_ was.

"We... we're good." She lied through her teeth, failing to mention that Barrett hadn't spent the past night at their house and that they'd had an argument about him.

While she knew that no matter how angry or jealous her husband could get, he wouldn't have rejoiced at the unfortunate turn of events. She shielded him from the truth more so that he wouldn't feel guilty or thought that it was his fault directly.

Rubbing the side of his cheek against his shoulder and looking down at his wedding band, Brandon paused, pursing his lips as a response to an inner conflict with himself.

"I understand, you know." He rolled his neck before letting out a low breath.

"I understand that you started a new life and moved on. I'll never hold that against you." His lips broke into a smile as he finally dared to look at her again.

He was trying to make his peace with reality and she appreciated his attempt that she knew he was only doing for her. She could tell his honesty from the tone of his voice or the look on his face. Still, it wasn't enough to erase the guilt that continued to devour her.

"I know, Bran." She whispered, returning the smile he had lovingly given her.

For the first time since her arrival, the atmosphere had lifted. The near insufferable tension seemed to have evaporated and regardless of how short-lived it was going to be, it felt as though they were going to be okay and getting through it, no matter the outcome. He relished in the moment, savoring it like the first scoop of ice cream of the summer, after a long and rough winter season.

"I swear I never meant to fall into a coma. I thought if something was gonna happen to me, it'd happen because of you." He decided to keep their spirits as light as possible and cracked a joke.

If he could laugh at himself, surely she would be able to, too. And it was a success, he received nothing less but that warm giggle he'd dearly missed.

"And I never planned on hurting you. Please, you have to believe that." She looked back up at him, pleading with her eyes.

She wanted to hear it from him, she wanted him to assure her that he was well aware of that fact. She hoped that, a way or another, it would lessen her unexplainable culpability.

"You never hurt me, Ariel." This time, he didn't withhold grasping her hand. He moved his left one over hers and gently rubbed the skin between her thumb and index finger.

"Life did. I'm glad you have someone in your life who loves you and makes you happy, even if it's not me." He chewed the inside of his lower lip, giving her time to register what he was telling her.

"A life of misery and endless waiting has never been something I'd wish on my worst enemy, never mind you."

"Maybe I should've killed ya when you got that phone call." The redhead laughed, smothering her pain.

She had the wrong idea that if she acted as though everything was fine, then eventually, it would all fall into line and she, too, would be as fine as she looked.

She could be ruthless at times and he had a remembrance of some of his old colleagues being scared of her, which had always greatly amused the pair. Most of his fellow men knew that the woman carried enough sass in her to have made her follow through with her promises if she'd announced that she was going to hurt them, had they done something to deserve such treatment.

"When I got the news, I prayed and prayed that you'd get out of it. And you have... just not when I was praying for it." She added, sandwiching her free hand on top of the one that he was already using to cover hers.

"Timing was never my forte. And listening even less." He reminded her with a titter.

"I'd blame your boss for what happened, to the point I had to be escorted out of the station, practically over somebody's shoulder." She recounted the incident as if it had taken place the day prior.

She'd been surprised that she hadn't been banned from entering the headquarters ever again. Not typically one to cause a scene, unless her buttons were pushed, it had been one of the biggest demonstrations that she had been hurting, that the accident had finally sank in. It was easier to hold somebody accountable than to face the sad truth that this had been beyond hers or Brandon's control.

She had a tendency to want everything to be in her charge, which she held her upbringing on the farm responsible for that, having to keep things running and in place or being a teacher where order and obedience were magic words to an harmonious and prosperous life. It had taken her a couple of years to renounce on begrudging and letting this much negativity impact her.

Her faith and spirituality had guided her to the understanding that what had happened couldn't have been prevented by anyone and thinking of all the what if's wouldn't put the world to rights.

"I would never have expected less from my feisty girl." He winked, releasing her hands and sliding his back towards himself.

He refrained from sighing again, the ideal he had imagined in his head, being so much different than the reality he was living. He'd have climbed the highest mountains, fought the strongest demons to have even as such as a glimpse of the fantasies he'd formed in his recovering mind, while in his hospital bed.

"What do you suggest I do while I try and relearn how life works again? I'm tired of being stuck in a room and not moving. I don't want to add my sanity to the list of things that went away."

"You could go to the library, or go back to school? A change of field could be good for you, it's the best way to start over." She suggested, excited to see him coming around.

He was cogitating and taking what she had said into consideration and that was a big first step.

"With all due respect, everything that you just said sounds 'bout awful." Brandon grimaced.

"I want to live my life not someone else's. And neither do I want history books to remind me of what I've missed." He pursued, wanting to make his point-of-view as distinct as possible. "The school system isn't for me, and probably less so now that I'm old. The only things I know how to do well is being a cop, a husband and sleeping." He half-joked.

And it was true, those would have been the best attributes to describe who he was. They summed up his life in three simple words. The only one being left out of the picture was that he was also a father but alas, he hadn't gotten the chance to fully be a dad to Juliet and he sometimes wondered if he'd even have been a good one.

"Well, look at where being a cop got you? I mean, come on, Bran. Seriously? You'll find something new that you could do. You could become a doctor? You did originally start out in Med School?" She proposed.

Her stance was firm and she was determined to make him look at the big picture. When she had first encountered her now husband, he had been an exhausted, busy student, trying to make his dream of becoming a doctor happen, no matter the costs.

He had his sights set on a long list of goals he was unwilling to not fulfill and was resolute to get into the best schools in the country. He wanted to do something meaningful, that could help people and possibly even save lives.

What had first attracted him to the medical field was the idea of never having a day that resembled the other and never knowing what he was getting into when he'd wake up, ready to get on with his day. The mystery behind what every twenty four hours held was incredibly thrilling to him.

Relatively shy by nature, — at the time, at least — it was bound to unleash the adventurous side of him and forge his character. But a redhead, failed exams and a new perspective later, he had changed his mind and plans. How he had gone from being ready to give his all to becoming the most successful doctor in Texas to an FBI agent further east was still something he struggled to grasp.

Both were so different and yet so shockingly similar at the same time. However, if one thing was for sure, despite everything and how much he should've despised the job that had led to the worst time of his life, he loved it and regretted absolutely nothing. He was too passionate to resent the position and the switch in career path that had given him so much and taken even more.

He'd heard most of his life that after falling off a horse, it was recommended to jump right back on as to avoid developing a fear of the majestic animals. It was a philosophy he had chosen not to follow when he'd taken the decision to drop out of Med School but that he was desperate to follow now.

Maybe that was the reasoning behind his eagerness to be the FBI agent he had been for so long. It was his calling, as hazardous as it was. And if becoming a doctor had not worked out, it had to have been for a reason. Why would it be any different thirty something years later?

"Aren't I too old for a reconversion?" Brandon questioned.

Then, something about the conversation they were having struck something in him. The thought of being in the hospital and the day he'd reopened his eyes came flashing back to him. He reminisced about his early days post-coma and the time he'd been led to believe he was going to be released but had been told that doctors were still concerned about his well-being. Above it all, he remembered the visits he'd had and one suggestion he had particularly hated.

"And to think Conrad wanted to put me up for retirement, can you believe the nerves of the man?" He growled, feeling his temper rise.

"I was in a coma, I'm not an invalid. It was one accident, ONE. One too many for damn sure but I had been in the field for over ten years and nothing had happened to me, nothing but a broken noise or a few scratches."

"Bran..."

He wasn't sure where his tirade was coming from but he was in need of a rant and speech was coming out of him like an approaching train; unstoppable.

"I'm not going to argue with you on that one but you mustn't understand what the past few months have been like for me, if you're really — honestly suggesting that I get a job where I'm supposed to stay in an hospital all day long." He concluded, running a hand over his face.

He was right, she hadn't considered it. That was, to her, adding to the growing list of proofs that she no longer knew how to act other than foolish.

How could she have suggested that to him? Her, Ariel, who was so thoughtful and composed? The one that people came to for advice, in times of incertitude and despair. She had a solution to every problem, except maybe her own.

Although she had only attempted to make him feel better, she acknowledged that part of his sorrow was her doing and hers alone. If she hadn't let doctors, friends or family get to her, then she wouldn't have let Barrett vow her which, in itself, implied that Brandon wouldn't be trying to get back to work so rapidly.

No, enough of that. She wasn't being the positive person she knew she was. Now wasn't the time to let this destructive thinking ruin what she had battled so hard against.

The light at the end of the tunnel seemed to have dimmed but it didn't mean that it wasn't still shining brightly farther away, in a distance. All she had to do was push through and keep going. And that was certainly never going to be occurring by rehashing and trying to change the courses of events that were well gone and done for.

"I just thought that maybe you'd like to help people, you were well looked after in that hospital but I guess you're right. I didn't think this through." Ariel sighed, looking down.

She understood that he could have developed some type of phobia towards hospitals. If she was to be honest, maybe she had as well.

It was as though no matter what escaped her mouth around Brandon, nothing was ever right. Not at all due to him telling her so, but because she deemed them not good enough. Her desperation to do right by him had reached a point that made it infeasible for her to know how to act, period.

Never had she been confronted to such a situation before. But as she sat opposite of him, mind clouded with recollections of scattered memories of her talking to his sleeping figure, she recognized that nothing could ever be worse than talking to him, longing to hear him say something, _anything_ back and being solely greeted by the echoing of her own voice.

She'd welcome the bad as eagerly as the good, for fighting was at least better than nothing at all. Conflict with Brandon signified that he was conscious enough for a reaction and for the longest time, that had been her only wish.

To such an extent that she was willing to admit that he had a point, which, not so long ago, was not exactly her favorite activity in this world. She hated being wrong almost as such as she loved being right.

A couple of seconds, perhaps minutes or an eternity later, neither of them could have attested for sure but the rhythm of their talk had fallen flat and the only sounds gracing their ears was the imperturbable tickling of his kitchen clock.

It was soothing on one hand, yet so burdensome at the same time, creating with every movement of the arrow, a sensation of dread that ran through them like venom, as though the longer they waited, the harder it would be to articulate another word to the person sitting across the table.

At a given point, Brandon's voice came to perforate the void of the instant they were sharing, forcing the woman in front of him to look back.

"All three of us, we were happy, weren't we?" He asked, his sentence ending in merely a whisper. His head was titled towards her as his eyes, tender, searched hers for an answer.

At that, Ariel could only smile as she returned his soft look, nodding in agreement. Her cheeks soon reddened, matching the color of her naturally rosy lips. It was difficult enough as it was for her to keep her poker face but if her body was now picking sides and playing against her, betraying her, she was better off giving up on her act already.

"We were very happy, it's true." She murmured, her voice breaking.

Staring back at him, she beat back the urge to cry. But, when the tears threatened to become stronger than she was, she abruptly pushed herself off her seat, using the table to propel her back to her feet.

Brandon watched her curiously, mesmerized by her constant elegance and inquisitive to discover what she'd be doing next. There was no telling anymore and it was something he couldn't quite predict.

He blinked, swallowing the lump in his throat. Somehow, he was expecting her to rush to the door and braced himself for the impact it would make as she'd slam it shut. However, much to his surprise, she walked in its opposite direction.

Almost as though her life depended on it, she bolted in the vicinity of the window and opened it in one quick motion.

Her anxiety had gotten the better of her and she found herself shaking, causing her to nearly hit herself in the face as she turned the knob of the old dusty opening. Taking a deep breath, letting the cool breeze caress her skin, she felt appeased, like the fresh air filling her lungs was exactly what she needed.

Closing her eyes, she exhaled, ignoring the nausea that escorted her.

"At first, I was there everyday." She told him softly, just as her mind captured a recollection of her latex glove covered hands holding his, rubbing the skin between his index finger and his thumb.

In her flashback, she was looking at her clean-shaven husband who was laying in his hospital bed, head bandaged, a tube separating them while she stood by his side in her scrubs and an hygiene cap over her head.

There was a glimmer of hope in her regard, her mouth curved into the tiniest imploring smile but the frown on her forehead displayed her true contrasting feelings.

"I was so certain that you were going to wake up. And the years passed. Juliet, me, the hospital... it was too hard. I couldn't do it anymore." Ariel paused, collecting herself.

Brandon remained seated at the table, listening to her every word attentively. When she stopped talking, he turned to look at her, his arm rested on the edge of the furniture, allowing her to take her time to tell him what she had to say.

It was a conversation he had wanted them to have, one that was, for lack of a better word, inevitable.

"And this infernal beep that wouldn't stop, it was driving me crazy." She finally added, looking down at her feet.

Then, another memory came flashing back. It was of a young Juliet, holding a beige fluffy teddy bear in her hands, her little fingers pushing it back and forth towards her while she sat on a chair — much too big for her — which made her feet unable to touch the floor.

She was wearing a denim skirt with a matching buttoned jacket, a pair of thick white tights and adorable black buckled patent school shoes. Her face was a combination of boredom and sadness as she sat by her father's bedside, waiting on a movement from him. The bandage around his head and tubes had all disappeared but his position had, alas, not changed.

"When she was six, Juliet asked me why you didn't have a grave like all the other dead people." She sniffled.

Letting her words wash over him, his mouth bent upward as his own eyes began to water.

"Say it, Ariel." He begged, abrasive before searching frantically for his cigarette pack.

It was too much, unbearable and he was in need of something to take the edge off, to tranquilize him.

"Come on, say it." He pressed with the semblance of a growl.

She heard him rummage through the items on the table and the sound of a box opening, followed by the flick of a lighter.

And just like that, the moment had come. He was beseeching her for the words she couldn't say.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Scene to be continued in the next chapter! ;)_


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